


A New Life of Half Lies

by Einy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Protagonist, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Romance, Sexual Content, non-human protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einy/pseuds/Einy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Verahdin of the Lavellan clan had felt that her life was over after the death of her beloved Miahla. In an attempt to give her new purpose for life or either find a death of her choosing, her Keeper had sent her to spy on the Conclave. The Keeper's gambit had worked well, though no one could have anticipated the result. Rather than finding a new purpose, the new purpose had found Verahdin, and with it the fate of the entire world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bridge of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> I've avoided using actual game text where I can. This is just what my mind was doing half the time I was playing the game, filling the holes in the story. I assume that if you're reading this, you're already familiar with the game and characters. If you're not and you're still planning to play this game, be warned, there will be spoilers. Also, I'm not going to be using much elven. There's not enough sources for using it properly and to avoid having to actually translate at the end notes or what-not, if a character speaks in elven, that will be noted without having to go to all the trouble. There will be some mature content and maybe some descriptive violence, but it takes a few chapters to build up.

He hoped they were right about her. Cullen Rutherford, commander of the new Inquisition’s forces rubbed the back of his neck as he bent over the map. There was so much at stake, so much to lose and nothing he did, no matter how thorough he was or how hard he worked, could possible fix the sky. The fate of the whole world rested in the marked hand of one woman.

And if they were wrong, if this was yet another mistake, yet another blunder on the way to their demise…

He’d rather not think about it. It was hard enough not to lose hope when faced with the torn sky. Everyone had put what hope was left into this woman, a dalish elf, a mage. He had not had the chance to meet her face to face yet. In the days following the sealing of the the rift directly below the Breach he had been busy with the few men that remained under his command and she had been kept indoors, still too weak and injured from whatever had happened to her during the Conclave to make her presence shown. He had seen her from afar as she ambled towards the blacksmith to have herself outfitted, or while she chatted with Varric. She had golden hair and a pale face, a small, delicate build as was common among elves. She seemed fragile, easily broken, not a creature to hold the fate of the entire world.

Unless that fate was as fickle as he feared. The Herald of Andraste, he wanted to believe in her, he wished he could, but he doubted he had enough faith left for such a feat.

The door of their makeshift war room creaked as it was opened, he looked up in time to see Cassandra Pentaghast walk in, followed by the subject of his thoughts. Up close she seemed a little taller but just as fragile looking, just as breakable as he feared, though that wasn’t all. There was something more, something that immediately commanded his attention. Perhaps it was as shallow as her beauty. Maker’s tears, she was, without a doubt, enchanting. He could not recall ever encountering a woman such as her.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces.” Cassandra said. The herald’s eyes, he noticed, were a very particular shade of light blue, like the colour of the winter sky reflected in a frozen lake. Her gaze was intense and made him feel strangely numb. He wanted to take a moment to regard her in silence, but words came stumbling from his tongue. “Such as they are,” he said softly, “we lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Then Josephine and Leliana were presented before her and the intensity of the herald’s gaze was directed elsewhere, allowing him to gather his thoughts. It seemed both Cassandra and Leliana were convinced that only mages could assist with closing the Breach, but templars would be just as capable. The Herald seemed to be a well-mannered woman. She did not appear to be pleased with her predicament, but neither was she decidedly opposed to it. She asked questions, many of them, and took their answers with thoughtful interest. He talked more than he intended to, and just when he thought he had covered all the important points, she drew out more and more until she was satisfied She was troubled by the situation, but her voice was calm. When they finally laid out their plans for her to travel to the Hinterlands and seek out a Chantry mother named Giselle, she was assertive, decided.

It wasn’t only her beauty that was now tentatively bridging over his doubt, she was more than he dared to expect. When the meeting ended Cullen could not push her face from his thoughts. This woman who had fallen out of the sky, who was she really?

***

She was Verahdin of the Lavellan clan, First to her Keeper — but only due to the recent death of the previous First. She had come to terms with what was happening to her, not because she possessed particularly developed coping mechanisms but because, for the past several weeks, even before the Conclave, everything familiar, everything she knew, everything she loved, had been shattered, disfigured and burned. She accepted the world around her like a dreamer accepted the strange circumstances of a dream.

Nothing really made sense anymore, but dreams were always nonsensical things. The Conclave, the Breach, the Fade, her Marked hand, missing memories, Herald of Andraste, all those people dead, Miahla’s dead.  _Miahla’s dead_! Miahla’s dead…? What more could the world come to and where was she going to be when sense finally reasserted itself and she woke up from this nightmare?

Things occurred in a strange sequence, solitary events floating with little connection between them. It almost felt as if everything had happened to someone else and she had heard about it through a story. She was at the Conclave trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, keeping away from the frightening attention of both the Templars and the mages, then she was running from… things. She was falling. She was awake, in chains. She was holding a staff and fighting… demons. She was in the company of others, an elven apostate mage who was not a dalish elf nor a city elf grabbed her hand and thrust it forward. It tingled and burned, the Rift closed. And then, more demons and rifts. And then her captors turned on her and made her make decisions…?

And then more of the same, with more demons, more words and more strangeness. More questions, more riddles, more…

_“My soul. Let’s fly to the valley,” Miahla sang, playfully tugging Verah’s sleeve, “there’s a full moon tonight and it will be bright. We’ll be all alone, just the two of us.”_

Verah shook her head, trying to strike the memory from her mind. She had to concentrate, horse-riding didn’t come naturally to her. She would slip off the saddle and make a total embarrassment of herself.

“Are you troubled?” Cassandra asked. The Seeker watched her like a hawk, or perhaps, of late, like a mother hen. There was guilt there, in the human woman’s gaze, for how she treated Verah in the beginning, but also a desperate yearning for Verah to be the person they needed her to be.

And while she had never been overly complacent — compliance had been Miahla’s forte — she wanted to be now, she wanted to live up to everyone’s expectations. She couldn’t see the Breach in the sky and turn away from it, not when there was still something she could do about it. She tilted her chin at the dark-haired woman blinking thoughtfully, “In times like these, aren’t we all?” she asked. It was an obvious evasion, but it would be pointless to talk about her personal troubles, especially when they firmly belonged in the past. “But Cassandra, there is more I would like to know about the Chantry…”

There was always more to know, more to understand. After Miahla’s death she had promised herself to never be ignorant again. She would have knowledge, she would know everything that was in her power to know. There was no shame in asking questions, and maybe if she had enough knowledge she could be wise. She would act out of wisdom, never out of desperation, never again.

The Seeker was all too happy to discuss the Chantry, its failings and her hopes for its future. Verah had a knack for getting people to talk. She was good at listening. When Cassandra wistfully questioned Verah’s own faith, the elf was tempted to lie, but she had always been a terrible liar, she didn’t think that would be changing anytime soon. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

As expected, her answer was received with disappointment that verged on scorn. Cassandra wanted Verah to be a holy woman, the messenger not of Andraste, but of the Maker himself. One who held all the answers in the war against these crippling riddles that threatened to tear the world to pieces. She almost wished she was. She had no faith, not in the Maker, not in his bride and certainly not in the elven Gods. No matter how much she tried, no matter how much she would have liked to have the feeling of security that having Gods allowed, there was a cynical voice at the back of her mind that told her over and over again: There are no Gods, only spirits, and people, and demons. Whatever a God was, it was a trick of the Fade, an entity that had been created by worship and required it only because without faith it would cease to exist.

But she said nothing of this, because although she was incapable of such beliefs, at least she had enough respect towards others to understand their need for it. She did not feel the need to align the world according to her worldview.

Awkward silence stretched between them, the conversation had been effectively killed, until: “You do not believe even in the elven Gods?” Solas inquired casually. He was riding directly behind her and she couldn’t turn in the saddle and look at him to gauge the source of his interest.

Solas was a curiosity. She had never met someone like him, human or elf, mage or non-mage. From the little she had managed to speak with him, she was certain he was someone she wanted around. It was always the peculiar ones that had the most to teach, and if she was going to face the Breach, she had to do so armed with an open mind. It was intellectually thrilling to hear what he had to say, to listen to some of her suspicions made into logical statements. Their first real conversation had somehow dragged out to a four hour long debate. He had looked at her at first with nonchalant indifference, though by the end of their discussion he listened to what she had to say with embarrassingly intense attentiveness.

She sighed, she had not imagined he would be the sort to blindly worship the old gods, but you never knew. “No,” she answered, and then, in an attempt to make light of the issue, added, “Although if you asked anyone in my clan they would point out that my lack of faith is obviously the reason I’ve attracted Fen’Harel’s interest.”

She expected to feel his cold displeasure wafting towards, she expected to hear him try to convince her of the existence of a truth that can never be proven. She did not expect the clear, almost musical sound that rang through the air. Now she did turn in her saddle, and so did Cassandra. Varric actually stopped his horse while muttering something about strange shit happening every day. Solas was smiling, genuinely smiling. “You continue to surprise me.” he said, delighted, as if that explained all the oddities in the world.

She helped herself to a smile of her own and then had to focus all her attention on not falling off her horse. Whatever the reason for his mirth, at this point it felt nice to make anybody laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter, it gets better, I promise! ^-^


	2. You Must, You Can and You Shall

_“You’re the prettiest when you cry,” Miahla said, reaching out with both pale hands and passing her fingers through the tangles of Verah’s pale golden hair. “You’re the prettiest in the whole world.”_

_“Miahla, no! Please, no! I can’t do it.” Verah pleaded through her tears._

_“You must, and you can.” Miahla pressed her lips to Verah’s forehead. “And you shall, my soul.”_

Verah wiped the tears from her eyes, her tears now were not from weeping, but were the result of violently vomiting into the bushes as far away from the watching refugees as she could manage. She could still see the man’s eyes when she sent forth the lighting that killed him. She saw the fleeting moment of fear as imminent death came pouncing and then nothing, he was gone. Maybe he was someone’s brother, someone’s beloved. He had been someone’e precious baby, somewhere out there was a bereaved mother who had lovingly carried him inside her for nine months and had painfully laboured him into the world.

And she had taken his life.

_“You must, and you can, and you shall.”_

Shut up.

A strong firm hand patted her back. She looked up into the openly friendly face of Varric. He had been the easiest to befriend out of the three companions that now formed her personal escort, but even he could not hide his hope. The irony was not lost on her, it was almost funny. Once, the only opinion that mattered in the world was Miahla’s and now Miahla was no more and Verah was worried about letting all of Thades down.

At least their disappointment wouldn’t be long lived, because if she failed, that might very well mean the end of the world.

“I take it it’s your first time,” Varric said as she turned towards him with a harrowed expression.

“Are you going to tell me it gets easier?” she wondered, her throat hoarse from the bile.

“I don’t know about easier, but at least you stop spewing your guts out after a while.”

She liked that answer, it was the right answer. It shouldn’t get easier, she could kill — if she had to — but it should never be easy. She rubbed errant tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not my first time killing someone.”

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. _It wasn’t._

They had piled the dead mages and templars at the far edge of the crossroads. They would be tended to later, when there were people to spare. She walked towards the pile of corpses and forced herself to look. Just a pile of meat. That’s how it had been then, too. There had been life, and then death was nothing. A dead ram, a dead halla, a dead girl, dead men, dead women — the dead was always the same dead.

She waved her arm over the corpses and ice roses sprouted about the bodies. She used to be so proud of her roses. To weave magic into minute detail, to capture everything a rose was in ice that lasted for weeks. It was subtle and beautiful, it required control and patience and it was the only vanity she could afford. Now it would become her mark, how she paid her respect for the lives she had taken. Not that it mattered to the dead. The dead were truly gone forever. But it felt wrong not to do something. Not to express her grief again and again, a thousand times over for every good thing, or bad thing, or even every normal thing that had been needlessly wasted.

Miahla would have understood.

**

The Herald of Andraste had changed. She refused to leave the Hinterlands for eight weeks, and in that time tales of her deeds spread wide and far. For some, hope was beginning to slowly sow its seeds where despair had resided, for others the distrust only seemed to grow.

But she had changed. She seemed stronger now, more solid. She radiated professional confidence and was at ease. She had learned to play the role that was assigned to her. This was a good change for the Inquisition and Cullen’s thoughts should have stopped there. But he couldn’t help wondering about the girl behind the herald. It was easy to forget — she made it easy to forget — but no matter how competent she was, she was still very young. Hardships made people stronger, what price did she pay to become less fragile?

Whatever it was, it had made both her and Cassandra abandon common sense. They wanted to travel to Val Royeaux and address the Chantry there? Were they out of their minds? He would never allow that, it was too risky. The herald had been in enough danger in the Hinterlands, but at least there he had backed her up with his men and Leliana’s agents had never been far away. In Val Royeaux he had no way of protecting her. And she would need protection. “It’s not a terrible idea.” Josephine was saying.

“You can’t be serious!” Cullen exclaimed, his hand flying up to the back of his head in frustration. He couldn’t even find the words to tell Josephine how twisted and wrong the idea was. Luckily Leliana was on his side, though Cassandra shot them both down, until finally the four of them turned to the herald for answers — as if she would have any.

“I have to agree with Cullen and Leliana, it’s a ridiculous plan,” she began. Cullen felt relief wash over him at her words. “It’s desperate, and I’d rather not do anything out of desperation.” he blinked at her, trying hard not to smile. “However, I can’t see any other way for us to move forward. I have to go and try to talk to them.”

Dread quickly replaced his relief, but he couldn’t speak against her, not when she sounded so in control. Cassandra announced that she would accompany the herald, as if that would change anything when all went to hell.

*

She ducked out of the apothecary and stopped short right in front of Cullen looking like a cat that had been caught stealing the cream. She hurriedly hid her arms behind her back but not before he noticed that her arm was heavily bandaged all the way up to her elbow. At the back of his mind he wondered why she felt inclined to hide her arm, or why she seemed to fall behind some sort of mask the moment she saw him.

But mostly he was alarmed, when had the herald been injured and how? Why didn’t he know about this?

“Good night, Cullen.” she said, nodding firmly at him and making to leave.

“Lady Herald, Wait.” He didn’t mean to take that tone with her, but it just happened. She froze. “You’re injured?”

She nodded and said nothing for a moment, as if she were carefully choosing her words. “It’s an old wound. Nearly healed now.”

“How did this happen? Who did this? Why wasn't this in any of your reports?” he demanded and she took a step back. Maker, was she wary of him?

“You can’t expect me to report every scratch I receive,” she argued. “I had to fight a lot in the Hinterlands, Commander, and I will probably have to fight even more until this is over. I will get injured and maybe even manage not to die, if I’m lucky enough.”

She made it sound as clear as day and night. Worrying about her was futile, there was only danger in her path. But he couldn’t let this go. “Was that a scratch, then?”

he asked. She let her arms fall to her sides. “Actually, it was more of a cut.”

“From a sword?”

“Yes, but you can rest assured that Cassandra dealt him a worse blow.” She was on the defensive now, he was on to something.

“Was this one of the bandits you encountered?” She shook her head, no. “A mercenary?” No again. “A templar.” He crossed his arms. It wasn’t a question, she didn’t need to confirm it.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever he was, he’s dead.” She said that, but even she knew that somehow it mattered, why else would she try to hide it from him?

“I used to be a templar,” he said slowly, feeling his heart sink. “Does that,” he swallowed, not sure he wanted to complete the question, not sure he wished to hear the answer. “does it bother you?”

She held his gaze, unblinking. He couldn’t read her expression, or know what she was thinking. There was a moment of silence, a moment in which he dreaded her next words and realised with mounting despair that what she would say mattered to him. “Does it bother you that I’m a mage?” she finally asked.

He was taken aback, he hadn’t considered she would worry about what he thought of her. A silly oversight on his behalf considering what she had gone through. “Maker’s breath, no.” he exclaimed and then lowered his voice, “Of course not.”

Something about her shoulders eased a little. “That’s a relief.” she said with a slight smile quirking the corner of her mouth. It _was_ a relief. and he smiled at her and maybe looked into her eyes longer than was appropriate for two near-strangers.

“So we’re fine?” he asked softly.

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

Her smile widened and she looked away shyly. “This might come as a shock to you, but,” she looked up at him, tentatively. “you know I have a name, right? When you think of me in your head you aren’t calling me “the herald” all the time, are you? I hope you’re not.”

“That is —“

“I didn’t hear anyone in the Inquisition calling you Commander Rutherford.” He didn’t know which was more disturbing, the fact that she knew he thought of her constantly or that she seemed to know a bit more about him than he thought she did.

“Verahdin.” he tested it out.

“Yes?”

He wanted to ask her to go for a nightly stroll with him. He wanted to invite her for a drink. He just wanted to talk to her more, to be next to her longer. To have her clear, unbreakable focus on him just a moment more. It seemed like the right moment for such a gesture, and the world might very well end tomorrow. But what if she refused? “Good night.” he said with a sigh.

“Good night, Cullen.”

He watched her as she walked towards her hut and then turned and continued on his way.

He didn’t see her pause and wistfully watch his back as he walked away.


	3. One Book

“Well that was…” Verah shook her head. A total waste of time? An unnecessary demonstration of violence against old women? The very definition of the word ‘wrong’? She didn’t know where to start, so she turned towards Cassandra who was looking shocked and pale faced. “How well do you know this Lord Seeker Lucius?”

Cassandra shook her head and said that he had been appointed Lord Seeker after the previous one had been killed. “He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding,” she tried to reason through her own confusion but shook her head again.

“Do the Seekers of Truth use lyrium too?”

“No, we obtain our powers through a vigil and a ceremony…” Cassandra answered hesitantly, “Why?”

“I hope you’re not thinking red lyrium.” Varric said, his voice almost pleading with her to take some other line of thought. “Please tell me that’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know what I’m thinking yet, but this is bad no matter wha —“ Solas yanked her back by both her shoulders as an arrow imbedded itself in the ground a foot from where she was standing. A whole foot. “I think I should be insulted. I’m not even worth an assassin with a proper aim?”

“Oh, their aim was sound alright.” Varric said.

“An arrow with a message?” Cassandra sounded annoyed. “This could be a trap.”

Verah picked up the message and unfolded it. Someone bad wanted to hurt her? Nothing new there. There was probably quite a long queue for that. But there weren’t so many people willing to be her friend. “Why Cassandra, where is your sense of adventure?” They still had a couple of days before heading back to Haven, and Verah was glad — this was going to be fun. It wasn’t the only interesting invitation they received either.

“Vivienne de Fer? First Enchanter to Montsimmard? Enchanter of the Imperial Court? Sounds perfectly obnoxious.” Verah gushed, “this must be one of those society calls that Josie was going on about.” she held up the invitation card proudly, it was quite phenomenally expensive paper with gold flowers decorating the corners. “This, my friends, is progress.”

As more time passed in Val Royaeux, Verah’s spirits climbed higher. She found everything about the city interesting, especially when they arrived in a square in the market that had dozens of shops that sold nothing but books. It was impossible now to mask her excitement, she was on the verge of screaming with glee and was soon lost among the tomes like a gluttonous child in a candy store.

_“Again?” Miahla laughed, pulling Verah’s braid. “How many times did you read that?”_

_“I’m just making sure I know it all by heart. I’m going to trade it for a different book, the Keeper said I can.”_

_“I bet you would have enjoyed being an ancient elf.”_

_“No. All the ancient elves are dead. I wouldn’t enjoy being dead.”_

_Miahla laughed, beautiful Miahla and her beautiful laughter. “You’d make a lovely ancient elf in ancient times. I heard a story once that they had infinite libraries that anyone could go into and know everything there is to know.”_

_Always the cynic, Verah snorted. “And pray tell me, my soul, where were those libraries kept exactly if they were so infinite?”_

_Then, as always was the case with the particularly outrageous fantasies that Miahla loved, she became very serious and solemn. “In the sky, of course.”_

_Verah nearly choked on her laughter. “You’re too cute when you dream.” she managed to say between bouts of mirth. And then Miahla was laughing too, because the whole point of the entire conversation had been to get Verah to laugh…_

Verah blinked back the memory as the sound of their laughter still echoed in her mind and the now familiar lump rose in her throat making her bottom lip tremble.

She passed the tips of her fingers over the spines of the books before her and stopped when she noticed Solas watching her. “My favourite tale about the ancient elves was that they had infinite libraries which they hid in the sky and that were somehow accessible to anyone of the elven people. In my whole clan there was only one book, only one which I traded every now and then for another. You seem to know a great deal about ancient elves, humour me, Solas, in your trips through the Fade, did you ever encounter infinite elven libraries?”

Solas’s dark eyes were strangely sad and while his intense attention was directed at her, he seemed to be unable to answer for quite some time. “In my journeys through the Fade I had encountered only memories of the sundered ruins of such libraries. They indeed existed, the libraries were vast and the knowledge they contained, nearly endless.”

“Oh.” She could feel the welling weight of tears behind her eyes. She looked up and away, blinking furiously. It was an odd impulse she had, ever since Miahla’s death, she wept only when alone.

“I wish they still existed,” she said when she was certain that she mastered herself. Evidently she was wrong and a few treacherous tears escaped her eyes. Solas surprised her by reaching out and wiping them away.

“So do I,” he said. She didn’t know what he thought the source of her tears was. But the expression he regarded her with was warm and perhaps even tender.

“Verahdin?” It was Cassandra’s voice that broke whatever spell they had been under. Both Solas and her jerked away from each other as if they had been caught in some illicit act.

“Cassandra, I’m over here,” Verah said, stepping out from between the bookcases. “Do you think you can help me find the romance books?”

“Why would _you_ be interested in romance books?”

“Wow. Cassandra. That’s… I apologise for being flesh and blood.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant —“

“I retain my right to be a hopeless romantic. Besides, there are actual _books_ about romance? Who _wouldn’t_ want to read them?”


	4. Confessions in the Breachlight

Verah liked Sera, she liked her a great deal. She wasn’t sure she trusted her and she was actually distraught about the fact that she had killed the mage who had thought he was ambushing them, but aside from that and still not being quite clear about how the Red Jenny thing worked, at least life would be funnier now that she was around.

As for Vivienne, the woman was doubtlessly a political viper who wished to sink her claws into the Inquisition as stepping stone for power. But whatever her ulterior motives were — and she certainly had those — she was Verah’s viper now and it would be better in the long run to have one or two snakes at her disposal. 

The war council gathered soon after they returned to Haven. It appeared that Leliana’s people had sent word about what had happened, but she didn’t know that as they were leaving Val Royeaux, non other than Enchanter Fiona herself had approached them and invited them to Redcliffe. 

Which was odd in several levels, but still not as bizarre as the Lord Seeker. 

“There was something… demon about him.” Verah mused. 

“We’ve already been through this, possession is impossible for the Seekers of Truth and we’re immune to the effects of lyrium as well,” Cassandra said. 

“I know, but still, the way he moved, his manner of speech, the polar of his skin. It all seemed so much like… like an abomination.” She said the last word with a visible shudder, one that, to her dismay, did not escape the ever-watching eyes of the Inquisition’s advisors. 

“Which is exactly why we must investigate.” Cullen said. 

“I agree,” Verah said, “but at the moment the most pressing issue is to secure an alliance with whoever we can and seal the Breach. We don’t have the luxury to be choosey. It might very well be a trap, but I’ll just have to risk it and be careful. I’ll ride out to Redcliffe as soon as I can.” 

*** 

“You’re creepy, yeah? Like friggin undead. It’s got to be something magicky. You don’t even look a quarter as pissed as you ought to be. Unreal, you.” 

“I didn’t drink that much. It was only — oh no, hide!” 

Cullen cleared his throat as he paused to look at the two giggling elven women who had chosen to hide in clear view in the shadow of a tree. 

“He sees us, right?” Sera finally managed to stop laughing long enough to say. 

“I know,” Verah said, massaging her ribs, “that’s what makes it so funny.” 

“Lady He-Verahdin.” Cullen said, unsure of what to do. His own reservation aside, it was nice seeing her like this. It made his heart lighter even if he had planned to speak with her tonight about something completely different. “You’re…” 

“Lord Cullen.” Verahdin said, sounding authoritative and serious, “it appears I am drunk.” That set them off again though this next bout of laughter caused both elves to crash into each other and then fall back. Sera smashed right into the tree while Verahdin conveniently came careening straight into his arms. 

His heart leapt into his throat. She felt small, soft and light, so light she was as weightless as a kitten. She smelled like soap and herbs, hopes and dreams and hidden fantasies. 

“Nice catch,” she said in a sultry whisper, looking straight up into his face. He swallowed hard, and made a mental note never to encounter her drunk again. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, he was certain. 

She winked at him and pulled back, going over to see how Sera was doing. The other elf was out cold. “Cullen, this is the job for the strong handsome man.” 

To say it wasn’t gratifying that she described him in such a way, even in a passing comment, would be a lie. It was less pleasant that he had to lift the heavily intoxicated Sera out of the snow. She did not smell like soap and herbs. 

“It was her welcome-to-Haven party,” Verah explained as they ambled towards wherever it was the unconscious elven rogue slept. “You missed it all, Josie didn’t drink much and I tricked— I mean convinced — Cassandra to attend and we even put Sera in chains as part of the tradition and Varric is sleeping on the tavern floor now.” 

“Wait, you _out-drank_ that dwarf?” 

“Don’t be daft, he outdrank all of us…” Verah chortled and blinked, “I guess that’s why he passed out.” 

“So that’s what… I thought Varric was inviting me to one of those Wicked Grace games he uses to cheat people out of their money…” 

“It was wicked and graceless but no cards were invited. You better come along next time, I’d love to see you out of that armour.” She stopped walking abruptly when she realised what she just said. “I… I mean in normal clothes and without that dead animal on your back.” 

“I’ll have you know that that “dead animal” is —“ Cullen began. 

“Anyway, I’m glad we ran into you. I need to talk to you and tomorrow I may be too hung over.” 

She sounded serious, slowly he sneaked a glance at her. If she was drunk, she was the most sober drunk he had ever seen. “There’s something I needed to tell you too.” 

“Oh?” She looked up at him, and perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but she seemed excited. He had no idea what she expected, but he had a sneaking suspicion she would be disappointed. She looked away to open the door to her hut — wait, Sera was sleeping here? 

She probably noticed the question in his eyes. “Someone will have to pat her back when she throws up in the middle of the night.” She directed him to place Sera on her bed and then he helped her remove the elven woman’s boots and throw blankets over her. Verah sauntered outside and returned with a bucket which she placed by Sera’s head. As she walked, Cullen tried to detect any signs of lopsidedness or anything that would indicate she wasn’t her normal self. 

She was remarkably sober for a drunk. 

“Come,” she said, nodding towards the door. They sat side by side on a wooden bench outside her hut. Verah began to fidget uncomfortably, rising to her feet, sighing, sitting back down and then looking Cullen in the eye for so long he felt he couldn’t resist any longer and almost kissed her. 

“I don’t know how to start,” she suddenly said, looking down and twiddling her thumbs. “I… I need to get something off my chest but this… this opening up isn’t easy. I was hoping the alcohol would help, but now I just feel sleepy.” 

“We could talk about it in the morning,” Cullen suggested despite his now burning curiosity… and desire. 

“No.” She looked up, pleading with him to understand. “I… I’m worried. No. Not exactly worried. I’m afraid.” She took a shuddering breath. “I was so adamant about going to Redcliffe partly because I… They scared me in Val Royeaux, all those templars — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make decisions like this. I tried to master my fear but I keep thinking that if I ride out to meet them, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. When I looked at them all I could see was my own death.” 

“That’s not a —“ 

“Wait, let me finish. I think you’re right about the templars, they could suppress the Breach and also they are an organisation, they’re already organised. Mages are fickle, getting them to cooperate with each other can be as hard as fighting fifty flaming rage demons at once. The templars can very well be the more beneficial alliance for the inquisition and I allowed my fear to overpower me.” 

When she stopped speaking she looked at him apologetically. He wished he had the nerve to touch her, to pull her near and promise her he would never let her get hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, and besides, such promises were as bad as lies. “I think we can look into it, if you like,” he said slowly. “I wish I could say that I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way. But if there’s a way to safely approach the templars, we will find it.” 

“Thank you, Cullen.” She said with a sigh, she didn’t sound quite reassured. “I just… I don’t want you to grow to resent me.” 

“I would never resent you.” 

“You say that now, but I haven’t nearly gotten started with making every possible mistake yet. What makes you so sure?” 

He would tell her. He would tell her now and so be it. He couldn’t hold back any longer. They were here, alone together in the moonlight, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be with her, he wanted to hold her, to touch her, to know her, all of her. He drew a deep breath, his heart hammering in his throat; “Because I —“ 

He was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Sera vomiting. It felt like waking from a sweet dream by having dirty dish water dumped in his face. 

“Oh _no._ ” Verah rushed into the hut and from the disgusted sounds that she emitted it was not a pretty sight. “But why on the bed…?” He heard her cry. There, the moment had been lost and so was his nerve. She popped her head outside to look for him. 

“Cullen, I just… I’ll have to…” 

“We can resume this discussion at another time.” He said, hating himself for sounding so formal. Was that disappointment he saw in her eyes? Maker, why did he never know what she was thinking? 

“Right… Good night.” She said, ducking back into the hut. 

“Good night.” He replied quietly to the empty air. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the sky with a heavy sigh. 

*** 

Verah sighed as she bundled up the soiled sheets. She shook her head, looking over at Sera who had curled up into a drunken ball in the corner of the room and had gone back to sleep. Killjoy. If she wasn’t mistaken, it had almost happened. 

She shuddered down to her bones when she imagined what it would have felt like to kiss him, to touch him, to be held by him. It would have been warm and blissful, it would have nearly been worth the Breach in the sky. 

Or she could be mistaken. It had been such a long time since she had been with a man, and this was not some handsome hunter, he was certainly no Lasren. She felt differently about Cullen — but then, she had been certain she had loved Lasren, and that hadn’t ended well. 

Oh Gods, why was she thinking about Lasren _now_? 

_“Do you think he’s handsome?” Miahla laughed._

_“It’s his one and only good quality.” Verah said trying to sound as uninterested as she believed she was._

_“I agree. He’s pretty and bad. You always liked them bad. You can have him if you want, I won’t mind. He doesn’t deserve you but you know, any man you want will fall at your feet.”_

Stupid Miahla and her stupid games. She had been right on one account though: Lasren didn’t deserve her, he deserved better. She hoped he would find happiness now that both she and Miahla were forever out of his life. 

With the bitter taste of the past lingering on her tongue, she slipped into the new clean bedsheets and fell instantly asleep. Alcohol was at least good for that.


	5. Dilemma

Verah’s eyes were perfect circular orbs in her face when she regarded the newest addition to her personal entourage. A mercenary-spy-bodyguard with horns. He was absolutely huge, which made him seem unstoppable. The men he brought with him seemed impressive too. She was still new to war and soldiers, but there was something high-quality that even she could recognise.

She didn’t trust him, though. He was one of those Qunari, but he knew about her lack of trust and assured her that he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“So… Iron Bull, is it?” 

“Actually, it's 'THE Iron Bull.' I like having an article at the front. It makes it sound like I'm not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction... That really works for me.” 

“You certainly look like a disaster waiting to happen to whoever fights you.” 

“Well thanks, Boss.” 

She didn’t have anything more to say but wanted an excuse to continue gawking at him. Miahla would have been all over him. The thought made her choke. 

“What’s that, Boss?” 

“Oh, er, then can I call you just Bull? Or Iron?” 

“You can call me whatever you want. You’re the Boss.” 

“That I am, Bull.” 

** 

Travel in the Hinterlands went a lot faster now that there were no more rifts to seal and templars, mages, crazed wolves and bandits to kill. They had another small detour planned on the way to Redcliffe. After the sudden disappearance of the Grey Wardens in both Orlais and Ferelden, Leliana had asked Verah to seek out a Grey Warden named Blackwall who had been sighted operating in the Hinterlands. 

“Well, this should be the location.” Verah said. Every single member of her party knew by now that she couldn’t be trusted with the map and that her sense of direction was only slightly better than a dead rat’s. They played along, although she knew that they knew and they knew that she knew, somehow the whole charade continued. 

“Over there, that bloke who looks like a bear that’s been lost in the woods since the fifth blight.” 

“Sera, that _is_ a bear.” 

“No not there, sillybits, over _there_ by the hut talking to those people, yeah?” 

“Ah.” Verah cleared her throat as she approached. “Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” 

** 

He wasn’t quite as grizzled as he seemed at first. In fact, Blackwall was surprisingly quite the gentleman. She didn’t expect to find one of those running around the woods. “So you can just do that? Just drop whatever it was you were doing here and go where you please? Isn’t there anyone you should report to?” 

“Are you regretting your decision to let me join you, m’lady?” Blackwall asked. 

“Not at all, I’m just making conversation.” He was evading, she noted. At this point, Cassandra was the only warrior in her group whom she trusted. “I’ll have you know, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a dalish elf, not a lady.” 

“I meant no offence. How would you have me address you, then?” 

Verah considered it for a moment. “I could get used to ‘m’lady’,” she concluded. 

He laughed and it was a major improvement, he seemed like a genuinely nice person. Her opinion of him rose slightly. Sneaky he might be, but for all she knew, maybe sneakiness was a common trait among Grey Wardens. “I’m at your service, then, m’lady.” 

She felt herself blush, “I should really ask Josie to give me some etiquette lessons, I have no idea how to respond.” 

** 

Halfway to Redcliffe it had become too much. Vivienne and Solas’s endless bickering was grinding against her already taut nerves. Solas had to stay, she needed him right now, but she couldn’t just send away someone as proud and self-important as Vivienne without severely hampering their relationship. In the end she opted to send away half her companions on the pretext of being too large a party for negotiations leaving with her only Cassandra, Solas, Varric and Iron Bull. 

It was a trap, it had to be a trap. But she was certain it was going to be the type of trap she could never expect. 

It was. 

**

“So let me get this straight. According to that Vint, a Vint cult managed to manipulate time and steal your mages from underneath your nose. I’d take that guy’s word with a grain of salt but if even half of it’s true, you’re screwed, Boss.” 

“Thank you for pointing that out, Bull.” 

“This is bad, but we have to focus on our goal.” Cassandra said, “We can still manage to secure the templar’s aid, I’m sure of it.” 

“This shit’s bad and that shit may be even worse.” Varric mused. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one is connected to the other,” Verah said as she paced by the camp fire. “This is all a mess. I either go up and face some demonic templar maniac or find a way to spring the trap without getting trapped.” 

She went to her tent after bidding everyone good night. One of two bad choices. Or was it? Trying to negotiate an alliance with the templars who probably wanted her dead seemed like the less impossible task now. But time manipulation? And all those mages enslaved to Tevinter. She rubbed her eyes, she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had some direction, something she could work with. 

“Solas,” she interrupted the elven mage by the campfire in the middle of a conversation with Iron Bull about the Qun. Must he antagonise everyone? “Walk with me?” 

Cassandra made to grab her sword, the woman truly refused to let Verah out of her sight. “We won’t go far, mother.” Verah tried to joke, but her heart wasn’t in it. “We’re two mages that Tevinter can’t steal.” 

“I know you won’t tell me what I want to hear,” she said with a sigh once they were alone, “I just need to find a way to clear my head and I know you’ll listen to my thoughts.” 

“I’m flattered that you think so highly of me,” he said. He was almost obnoxiously polite with some of the others in the party, at least with her he was sincere. “You have my devoted attention.” 

Verah smiled, “Oh, I noticed that.” Sometimes Solas watched her, looking at her very intensely as if he wanted to see into her skull. It wasn’t the sort of attention that warranted butterflies or anything, more like the way Verah looked at Iron Bull — like she couldn’t believe such a huge person existed with that greyish skin and those horns and she wondered what he’d look like with a tail that had a spike at the end… 

Solas chuckled. She had managed to make him laugh only once, clearly it was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. “But I believe you’re right to assume that there is a connection between both what is happening to the mages and templars and what transpired at the Conclave.” 

“So no matter what I choose, I leave the other to the enemy.” Faceless, formless enemy. All she knew of whom she was up against was from a memory reflected back at them in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He had had a deep, drawling voice that made her bones shake. 

Solas smiled, delighted that she followed his line of thought. “That is correct only if you manage to create an alliance, which brings us back to our present dilemma. Am I wrong to assume you’re inclined towards attempting to rescue your fellow mages?” 

“Mages I can understand. Even if all mages here were prisoners most their lives. I can still understand them, I know some of what they’ve gone through. As allies they’ll be terrible, chaotic, but it’s a familiar chaos as opposed to…” 

“Something you fear? An order that was created for the sole purpose of oppressing and imprisoning people like you and I for the mere fact that we were born with a conscious connection to the Fade?” 

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that exactly. In my mind there’s a certain logic about templars…. Magic _is_ dangerous, on so many levels and I don’t mean dangerous like a sword either. Those comparisons end when you have things like… like this time magic that the Tevinter magister is using. It’s ingeniously creative, I can’t even imagine how…” She shook her head “And then there’s the fear of a mage who just doesn’t have the control. I once knew a mage who became possessed. I can understand the fear of abominations that gave birth to the templar order. It’s not a particularly elegant solution and not only for the mages. The templars’ task is dark and dirty, and they mutilate themselves with lyrium and it’s not as if a mage can’t kill an abomination…” she sighed, the words suddenly heavy on her tongue. She couldn’t go on, not on this topic. 

“What happened to that mage?” 

“What do you think happened?” She didn’t mean to sound so sharp, he noted her distress. Nothing escaped Solas. For once he was silent. 

“If by choosing one ally you forfeit the other,” Solas said continuing as if their previous exchange had never happened, “then you stand to lose nothing with following your intuition.” 

 “But that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. My intuition is biased.” 

“All intuitions are biased. It is, however, admirable that you recognise this about yourself.” 

Verah pressed her palm to her forehead. Her brain hurt from thinking too hard. Talking to Solas was the mental equivalent of climbing uphill. It always started as something she could manage if she paced herself right but at some point she felt so heavy she had to pause and catch her breath. 

“Thank you, Solas. As always, you’ve given me something to think about.” 

“As always, it was a pleasure to speak with you, Verahdin. I… enjoy your company, I didn’t expect to.” 

“You always seem expect the worst out of people,” Verah noted. “Well, I guess that’s one way to be pleasantly surprised.” 

She winked at him, just for good measure, and turned on her heel to walk back to camp. 

_“You can’t_ not _choose.” Miahla said, exasperated._

_“I know.”_

_“I can’t choose for you.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Then stop being such a baby and stop being so vain. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, nothing can change that.”_

_“I just wish…”_

_“You can’t.” Miahla stomped her foot. They had been much younger then, Miahla learned later on not to show her irritation in such a childish way. She learned the art of cunning and manipulation, she learned how to push and pull people’s emotions around her until the world took on the shape she wanted._

Until one time it didn’t… 

_“I just want to understand!” Verah cried, losing her patience too. “Why the valaslin? What does it really mean? Why mutilate ourselves? It’s not that the Gods don’t care and just won’t help. Either they never existed or were never Gods to begin with and this is just another stupid tradition we carry on and on without anyone remembering, asking or understanding why or how it began!”_

_“That’s just you being vain,” Miahla sneered, “and trying to sound smart about it. You want to live without valaslin, then just go, live without your clan too, live without me.”_

Miahla had won that argument, as she won all arguments. In the end, they did everything together, they had gotten identical valaslin, dedicating themselves to Mythal, the protector, Goddess of Justice.


	6. Enter Dorian

“A Tevinter magister controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and some of us want to do nothing.” Leliana already had that deadly glare on, and it was pointed straight at Cullen. He was just as capable of glaring but she did it in a scarier way. It was as if they were bickering children and Leliana was ratting him out to the adult authority — Verahdin.

“Not this again.” Josephine sighed. 

Cullen fought not to roll his eyes and pointedly did not look at Leliana. They had been arguing about this very point for three days, only now Verahdin had finally returned from the Hinterlands to witness it. “Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” 

He looked at Verah, still in her mage-armour, still dusty from the road. Their eyes met and again he felt the now familiar sensation of the bottom of his stomach falling out. “If you go there, you’ll die.” He pleaded. 

And she noticed, he was certain, she saw how his heart lay bear before her. He couldn’t lose her, she was too important, not just for the world, but for him. But Leliana was still glaring at him, Cassandra was brooding and Josephine was quietly attentive. He couldn’t have them all noticing his feelings before Verah did. “And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the rifts. I won’t allow it.” 

Andraste’s tears, was it his mind or did she just flinch? 

The argument continued until finally Josephine pointed out that sending an army of Orlesian men into Fereleden would provoke a war. 

“The magister —“ Cassandra began. 

“Has outplayed us.” Cullen cut her short. He looked imploringly at Verah, she would see reason and abandon this plan. 

“Not quite.” Verah said, crossing her arms and regarding those present as she seemed to contemplate her next words. Why was she being so stubborn? “Whoever builds a castle that can withstand every assault is obviously mortally afraid to die. They wouldn’t just trust everything they have in sturdy walls and heavy gates. They’d have an escape route, a precaution, in case it turns out that they didn’t actually build a fortress that can’t be breached.” When she finished speaking, she looked pointedly at Leliana. 

The Nightingale inclined her head with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “There is such a way,” she conceded, “it’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.” 

“It’s too risky,” Cullen argued, although he lacked the conviction that had backed his previous arguments. “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” 

“That’s why I’ll be captivating the magister’s attention.” Verahdin said and Cullen had no doubt about that. Even roughened by the road, she was captivating enough to take any man’s breath away. “I’ll trap him by walking right into his trap.” 

“That’s a big gamble…” Cullen hesitated, fighting to find some way to argue against this, “but it can work.” 

“And there’s one more thing.” Verah said with a triumphant gleam in her eye. “I have inside help.” She walked over to the door and pulled it open. 

“You just ruined my entrance.” said a handsome man who had one of those impossibly neat moustaches that screamed Tevinter. 

“You brought that Tevinter here?” Cassandra cried. 

“He is my newest ally and his name is Dorian.” She said, smiling at the young man with a familiarity that made Cullen wish he was enough of an idiot to scream he would never trust a Tevinter and stomp out of the war-room. 

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help.” Dorian said oozing self-importance. “So if we’re going after him, I’m coming along.” 

“You certainly know how to find them.” Cullen commented cooly. 

Verah shrugged her shoulders, “Everyone needs a hobby.” 

*** 

Stupid stupid _stupid._

The moment the war meeting was over Verah rushed out of the war-room as all the emotions she repressed during the meeting rose like a tide. How could she be so stupid? She had honestly believed he _cared for her_. That sweet jumble of emotions that tickled down her spine whenever he looked at her and it had all been _in her head_. 

He didn’t care for her, he cared _about_ her. How easily the two could get confused. 

But when did any man care for her? When had she ever been more than an exquisite curiosity. 

_“You always act so full of yourself,” Lasren had said, “But all you are is that pretty little Second of clan Lavellan. All anyone ever wanted, wants and will want out of you is to have a go in the sack.”_

His words still stung, but only because he hadn’t been wrong. She had treated everyone who wasn’t Miahla with disdain, she had always been contrary, always in her own world. In her heart she felt too intelligent, as if she had to slow down for them, as if they weren’t even worth her time. 

Just a handful of weeks in the big wide world and she forgot all that. She had gone all starry-eyed for a _human_ man who needed her as no more than a precious chess-piece on his war table. 

_“And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the rifts. I won’t allow it.”_

Stupid Cullen. 

She stopped walking and drew a deep breath. No, this turmoil was wrong. It wasn’t a bad thing to want to love someone. It wasn’t stupid. He was a pretty man, as far as humans went, of course she’d be attracted to him. She was no more stupid than every man that had attempted to woo her for her beauty. 

She nodded to herself graciously, she was just very, very bad at this. She had always been the bad one, it was Miahla’s job to be good. 

“Remarkable! That was an entire conversation you just had with yourself.” Dorian said out of nowhere. 

Verah was too shocked even to scream. She had to gasp several times before she could speak. “How long were you following me?” 

“I was walking right beside you the whole way and you didn’t even notice. That is an astonishing oversight on your behalf.” 

“I think it may be the biggest oversight of my entire life.” Dorian wasn’t exactly hard to miss. She shook her head, retracting her thought process back to the beginning. She _was_ stupid. 

“So, let me guess,” Dorian said, as they both resumed walking, “the handsome Commander?” 

“What about the handsome Commander?” 

“Long wistful glances across the war-room? Thinking so deeply about him you fail to notice the marvellously attractive man walking by your side? That sort of thing.” 

“No.” Verah said flatly. “I’m a dalish elf, you know, we go only for other elves. Must preserve the race and all that tosh.” 

“That would limits your choices to that bald one who dresses like a hobo.” 

“Actually, I think he’d prefer sex with spirits if that were possible.” Verah shrugged. 

“I’m strongly opposed to the images you just made me imagine.” 

“You brought it up. You’re quite the gossip.” 

“Oh, you noticed? Gossip happens without me too, I just prefer to be an active participant rather than merely a victim.” 

Verah released a surprised chortle. “I’m glad to have you as my ally, even if you betray me, at least I’ll go down laughing.” 

“That’s the spirit!” 

“I’m going to take a bath, so good evening to you,” she paused and looked coyly at him, “unless you want to join me?” 

“I’d be delighted, unfortunately I have a pressing meeting with a bottle of Ferelden wine. Join me later, if you’ve a mind.” 

*** 

Thom shouldn’t have risked it. He should have continued on, inconspicuous, under the radar, away from prying eyes. It hadn’t been as difficult to maintain the lie out there, but here in Haven he felt people’s innocent curiosity was dangerous. It was as if they knew, they already knew, but were just waiting to see him slip. It had been a bad decision on his behalf, but he was the king of bad decisions. 

It was because of her, that young elven woman they were calling the Herald of Andraste. For a moment there, in the woods, he had looked at her and she seemed bright, almost too bright to be real. Everything in comparison seemed dull and grey and all at once he felt weary, tired of running, tired of his fear-filled, empty life. And there was a need too, a need for an even greater purpose, a need to do good in a better way. 

She had turned to leave, taking with her that light, fresh, springtime-like feeling. He suddenly couldn’t stop himself, he had conquered so many impulses over the years, but now the impulse of not letting her fall out of his sight forever conquered him.”Wait.” he cried, and that had sealed his fate. 

It was a downward spiral from here. In his heart he knew that he would either be discovered, or die. 

Thom was not wrong about the Inquisition. It was a young and budding movement, but already in encompassed so much. He was no stranger to armies and their organisations, he knew how to read the atmosphere, and something here was different, in a good way. 

Of course, it had to be different. That Breach in the sky from up close spoke to some deep, primal fear inside him. When the whole world had fallen to its knees, it would take a lot of different to bring it up again. 

And she was different too. Not quite as innocent as she seemed at first — although she was clearly young, he wagered that she was somewhere in her mid twenties but Varric was convinced that the elf was a young-looking thirty-something-year-old. He had been surprised at first that she was an elf, and that so many people were willing to follow an elf and a mage at that. He had no misgivings about elves personally, but it didn’t take a lot of observation to notice that the world in general did. 

But whoever met her, whoever saw her, whoever she touched or looked at, was swayed. 

Himself included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add Blackwall's POV because Cullen is stuck in Haven/Skyhold all the time and I needed another POV. I think even with the assumed identity and all he'd still be "Thom" inside his own head.


	7. The Scent of a Man

She was sitting silently next to him. Thom had been alone watching the Breach and was startled to discover her presence. It was true then, what they said about elves being light-footed.. She was sitting on the stone wall by his side with her knees hugged up to her chest, and the greenish light of the Breach reflected in her large round eyes.

“To have actually fallen out of that…” 

She shrugged her shoulders, “All in a day’s work. But more importantly, Blackwall, will you come with me to Redcliffe?” 

“I’ll come with you anywhere.” 

She clasped a hand over her mouth and laughed. “You make it too easy, you should always keep a few cards close to your chest while flirting.” 

“I don’t know about that, this tactic appears to be working for me.” 

“Very daring. But do you know the risks involved? With Redcliffe, I mean. You can’t possibly know the risks involved with flirting with me.” 

“I don’t mind risking my life, if it’s for a good cause.” 

“Blackwall,” her humorous demeanour melted away, she was suddenly serious and impressively regal. “This magister we’re facing is no fool. He’s a very powerful mage and he uses magic that shouldn’t even exist. When facing someone like that…” she shook her head, “If this all goes wrong death will be the least of our worries.” 

“You’ve invited me along and now you’re trying to scare me out of coming with you? I’ll come all the same, if that’s alright with you.” 

“I just want you to know what you’re in for. I know you’re a brave man, but this is more than just facing demons or darkspawn. This Alexius… scares me.” 

“You’re an honourable woman,” he said earnestly, “and I’m dedicated to this cause. You’ll always have my aid if you require it.” 

For a moment she looked at him in silence, her eyes gentle and warm, and then she tilted her head to one side and the minx smile returned. “You’re… strangely charming for a man I found wandering the woods.” 

She leapt to her feet with a flourish and nodded at him, “Best get some rest, we’re leaving in the morning.” 

And she was gone just as abruptly as she appeared. Thom sighed, scratching his beard, there goes the lady of his… no, not his dreams. He was certain he had never been creative enough to dream someone as remarkable as her. 

*** 

It worked, but plans rarely worked so well. The magister didn’t notice as the venatori agents fell silently, he was a plagued man and Thom almost felt sorry for him. As Verahdin drew closer to him, it took all of Thom’s self control not to shadow her and unsheathe his sword. 

He saw the man’s hand move. Plans rarely worked so well. 

He saw his hand move but he was too far and reacted too slowly. 

The young Tevinter mage, Dorian, bodily tried to stop it. But whatever it was, the spell, a rift — Verahdin was gone, reduced to nothing but ash. 

Thom shouted wordlessly. He had never known it was possible to feel like this, as if he had just been ripped open from the inside. But she was gone. She was gone. She was dead. He had failed. They had failed, everything had failed. 

The magister was about to turn towards them, the beginning of a cruel smile on his lips. Another flash of green light, and there they were, Dorian and Verahdin both of them, whole and alive. 

Relief like a punch in the stomach. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked. Spells can certainly fail. Then he noticed the details, her hair had fallen loose out of its usual knot, her face was pale and she was covered in blood and gore. But more than anything were the tears in her eyes as she turned to look at him and Cassandra. 

He saw a thousand different emotions rush over her face, she took a step towards them and then seemed to remember where she was. 

*** 

Verah rolled over on her sleeping mat. She couldn’t sleep. She wanted to believe it was out of embarrassment. After creating the alliance with the now free mages — Cullen was going to have a fit — she had broken down on Cassandra’s shoulder. The Seeker had been very polite about it, but she just couldn’t understand the extent of it. 

There had never been any guarantee that it would work and they’d be able to return to the present. Dorian had tried to sound confident, but it was all too easy to see beyond his cheerful sarcasm. It had been waking up the morning after Miahla’s death all over again, except tenfold, so many people suffered because she failed. 

She wanted to scream for them to stop everything, this was too much responsibility, especially for someone like her. But the thing that made her so important hadn't been anyone’s decision. Indeed, if they had been given the chance to choose, they certainly wouldn’t pick a dalish elven mage for her position. She didn’t think there was a creature in Thades with more controversy attached. 

She looked at the faint greenish glow emanating from her palm. Forget about ever sleeping in the dark again. She had gotten used to the soft, pulsing tingling that had bothered her so much at first. It was the exact insistent tickling that was on the brink of being painful without actually ever getting there. 

She crawled out of the warmth of her bedroll and wrapped her cloak around her. The camp fire was burning low and she threw a few fags in to make it warmer. She was startled to discover the hunched shadowy form of Blackwall by the fire. He had been in the darkness behind the flames. 

“Can’t sleep either?” He asked. He was a big man, and at first he seemed slow to her and not all that intelligent. But it was only the first impression. She had seen him fight, she had talked to him long enough to realise that he had a lot of wit. He was brave and passionate. She also noticed the way he looked at her and wondered what he saw. Whoever he thought she was, she wanted to be that woman. 

“I watched you die.” she said quietly, and was surprised by the tremor in her voice. “I know it hadn’t happened — it _won’t_ happen — but what they did to you… and then you fought phenomenally, like a madman, like a force of nature. And you, and Cassandra, and Leliana — I watched you _die_.” She hugged herself tightly and shivered, the heat of the fire somehow not enough to penetrate this cold feeling. 

“I thought I saw you die today as well.” He said slowly. 

“That’s what you… the future you…” she shook her head, she couldn’t complete this sentence without remembering his gaunt, tortured face with the glow of red lyrium in the whites of his eyes. “Cassandra told me that you screamed.” 

“That was…” Blackwall smiled sheepishly, “probably some form of heartbroken war cry.” 

“The Heartbroken War Cry, sounds dashing. Maybe we should have Cullen teach it to his _me—n._ ” She attempted a joke, but couldn’t hold it. Her voice broke on the last word and her shoulders shook. She furiously wiped away her tears, not again, she had already cried about this. But they kept coming, pouring out of her eyes. She tried to swallow down a sob, making her chest shake. 

Suddenly embarrassed, she hid her face in her hands. 

“Hoy, come now,” she heard him move and come closer. “There’s no shame in crying. It doesn’t make you lesser then you are.” 

Verah couldn’t trust herself to speak, otherwise she would have told him that he was wrong, the Herald of Andraste couldn’t be just a girl who cried when things got too scary. She needed to be made of sterner material, she needed to do better, to _be_ better. She needed to be the hero who would stop this Elder One and protect everyone. 

Miahla’s death was one hour that repeated itself over and over and over in her mind. The pain of it all had been something she couldn’t even begin to endure. But it also hadn’t completely seemed real. While it was all happening, a part of her still believed she’d wake up the next morning and discover that it was all a bad dream. 

She had woken up the next morning from a drugged sleep and nothing was ever the same again. She was helpless, severed and Miahla was forever gone, gone, gone, gone… 

She wasn’t helpless now. That future had been terrible but none of it had happened…yet. She could still prevent it. 

But she just couldn’t seem to stop crying. Her stupid eyes kept sprouting stupid tears and she was still stupidly overwhelmed by sadness for something that had never happened. Her silence was cut by the occasional sniffle or hick-up. 

And she didn’t quite know what Blackwall thought of it, she couldn’t even _look_ at him. “Come now…” he said softly from somewhere close by. And then suddenly — strong arms were wrapped around her, encircling her completely. He pulled her close and her head came resting against his broad chest. She could actually hear the nervous beating of his heart — or was that her own heart? 

She was surprised out of her tears but allowed herself to be held. It should have been a very awkward moment, what with Blackwall being a near-stranger. But it wasn’t, and it didn’t feel _wrong_ either. There was also a small part of her that loved to be held, probably a primitive remnant from when she was a baby or something. Miahla had always been obliging when she needed a hug, though it had certainly felt different when it was someone else — a man — to be more specific, Lasren. 

The men she had lain with before Lasren were, if anything, out of boredom and curiosity, an indulgence. Miahla thought it was important, an occasional sampling, she called it. There was never a shortage of willing men and even when Miahla was alive Verah had sometimes felt… strangely lonely. Isolated. 

But none had held her like Lasren, none had taken the time. 

_”We are alike, you and I,” Lasren had whispered one night as his sneaky, sneaky fingers trailed down her stomach, past her navel, “we are deserving of each other. In their darkest hours or their happiest moments, no one can compare to us.” He parted the soft, curling hairs between her legs as his lips followed the path that his fingers had made._

_Verah sighed, her head falling. “You like to embellish our misdeeds with pretty words,” she breathed out, “but the truth is we’re nothing but misfits.”_

_He lifted his head for a moment to regard her with a sardonic smile, “the truth will be whatever we make it.”_

Blackwall smelled surprisingly nice, like the earth’s solid musk with the tickle of woodsmoke coming from the campfire and the pungent smell of oil they used for the armour. Most of all he smelled like a _man_ and Verah found herself drinking in the feeling — how she missed this.


	8. Weary and Cross

“What were you _thinking_ turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open —” That had been Cullen’s greeting to Verahdin upon her arrival at Haven. Her glare silenced him, she had been ready for this fight.

It didn’t make it any easier, she had been so infatuated with the young Commander and now there was a flaming ball of anger mixed with hurt in her stomach. “Truly, _Commander_ , if you would only take a moment to consider _who I am_ my thought process wouldn’t be so obscure.” She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling slightly with her anger, “Believe me, I am _well aware_ of the risks involved, more than you can even imagine.” 

She took a moment to breathe and when she spoke again her voice was weak. Hurt had won over the anger, she’d expected as much out of Cullen, but this particular argument hit too close to home. “Our first priority is to close the Breach, now that we have the mages on our side it’s finally possible.” 

“I know we need them for the Breach,” Cullen said, still reeling with his own anger to notice anything else. “But they could do as much damage as the demons themselves.” Then he turned to Cassandra out of all people, “Seeker, you were there, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“While I may not completely agree with the decision,” Cassandra began slowly, it seemed inside the chantry of Haven, only she was composed and calm. “I support it.” 

“I’ve already discussed things over with Fiona and Vivienne,” Verah went on, Vivienne had been seething worse than Cullen over this. The circle was her world, within it she had managed to climb into a seat of power but without it she was a stumbling fool — just like the rest of them. It was only her wish to attach herself to the newest Power in Thades and thus have a grasp over her own future that had allowed Verah to manage her. “We’re going to take precautions to assist the mages with any trouble they may have. Also we’ll need to find a way to procure lyrium that isn’t controlled by the Chantry. With the right kind of support, the mages will be able to govern themselves as the free people they deserve to be.” 

“I may be able to provide a source.” Leliana said, Verah had expected no less of her. At least _someone_ here had the right idea about people being people, with or without magical abilities. Her eyes lingered on Leliana, the Nightingale, beautiful and mysterious. In the future she saw, they had tortured her so badly her skin had been grey and scarred until she was barely recognisable, until she seemed only a little more than undead. 

And she too had died there, in that broken world. Verah rubbed her temples, there was a headache coming. She had barely slept in the past few days. “Anyway, there’s much to do but I need a little rest. Redcliffe was… trying… Let’s meet in the war room in two hours.” 

Josephine raised an eyebrow at Leliana. “Take three hours, you look like you need the rest.” The Nightingale said. 

*** 

Cullen had been… panicked. And that was putting it lightly. He had known from the start about the possible alliance with the mages, but the reality of it hadn’t hit him until it had actually happened. He had still hoped Verahdin would somehow decide to approach the Templars instead, but asking her to do that… If he put himself in her place he wouldn’t either. 

Yet the thought of all those mages under his care brought him back to the Circle Tower, the the darkness, the fear, the agony…the insanity. With the lyrium so low in his blood now, the memories were stronger, vivid, haunting. He felt tired and weak. 

That was no excuse. He had been too hard on her, he knew that. He shouldn’t have spoken that way and, Maker forgive him, he had hurt her. 

Or maybe he credited himself too much, maybe he didn’t hold any sway over her feelings. Either way, she was angry with him, and he couldn’t bear it. He had read the report about what had happened to her in Redcliffe, he should have been more sensitive. 

But she had been so commanding the moment she walked into the Chantry, she had seemed in control, even a little intimidating. Only right before she left he noticed that her skin was exceptionally pale and that there were dark circles beneath her eyes. It was odd, but weariness became her, the play of shadows on her face made her beauty unreal, ethereal. 

He stood outside her door and sighed. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be disturbing her when she was resting. He turned to leave. 

“So you’d leave it at that and just _go_?” Her voice dripped anger but when he turned to look at her, all he saw on her face was that she was hurting and tired. However when his eyes moved beyond her face to take all of her in, he froze. 

_Maker have mercy._

She had her hair down and was wearing nothing but a simple white nightdress. She always wore her hair in a tight knot or an elaborate braid which she coiled round her head like a crown, but now it fell all about her shoulders and down to her lower back in gentle waves of the palest gold that seemed almost white. The nightdress was the practical sort of garment no one would claim as daring, but it revealed a lot more about her body than any of the mage robes or armour he had seen her wear. 

She smirked at his stare. If he had ever entertained the notion that she was unaware of how beautiful she was, it was effectively shattered when she cocked her head in a bird-like motion and leaned against the doorframe in such a way that would make her dress cling and the neckline plunge low enough to show him the smallest hint of bosom. 

Verahdin knew how to seduce, had seduced men before and she was a veteran where he was only a babbling child. 

He knew he was blushing profusely in broad daylight. Her smirk vanished and she blinked at him slowly and shook her head, as if she couldn’t decide what she would do with him now that he had been caught in her trap. 

“I was waiting for you to knock,” she explained quietly, lowering her eyes. She hugged her arms round herself. 

“I was…” What _was_ he doing here? He rubbed the back of his neck. “Trying to build up the nerve to apologise. I didn’t mean to —“ 

“Cullen,” The sound of his name on her lips brought instant relief, they were still on good enough terms for her to use it. “Do you know that having conversations in doorways is practically asking for bad luck?” 

“Is that something Dalish? Because —“ 

“Of course not, we live in aravels,we don’t _have_ doorways.” 

“Then —“ 

“Please come inside,” she snapped, “I’m freezing.” 

If it hadn’t been so blatantly obvious that she was indeed cold — he didn’t know how his eyes had wandered there — he wouldn’t have come into her cabin. As it were, he was suddenly standing inside, alone with her looking like a creature that had fallen out of a bard’s song. 

She hurried to throw another log on the fire and then unceremoniously sat on the bed, nodding at the fireside armchair across from her. With his heartbeat drumming in his ears, Cullen crossed the threadbare room and, back stiff due to his armour, sat awkwardly across from her. She looked at him, opened her mouth to say something and then looked away at the bookshelf. 

It seemed now that she had gotten him inside, she was as uncertain as he was. 

He followed her line of sight. He hadn’t noticed it the first night he had been here, but Verahdin’s cabin certainly accommodated many books. The bookshelf was overflowing with them and they were stacked wherever there was a large enough surface. There was one propped open on her pillow — she had been reading even now? — and a large ledger filled with small, neat writing on the desk. 

The only place that didn’t have books was the hearthside table that currently contained a tray of food — a late lunch for the Herald that remained untouched. “You haven’t eaten?” he asked, concerned. 

She looked sharply at him, for a moment like a child that had been caught doing something naughty “I…” she sighed, and shrugged her thin shoulders. “I think I’m too tired even to eat.” 

Cullen rose to his feet, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be disturbing your rest.” 

“It’s alright, I wouldn’t have been sleeping anyway. Whenever I’m worried or stressed, sleep always seems to elude me.” She shook her head, as if it wasn’t important. “You wanted to tell me something?” 

“I wanted to apologise for today, I was,” he paused. What would she do if she knew about what had happened to him in the Circle Tower? If he could tell her, maybe she would understand, maybe it would be easier for her to forgive him. Maybe if he told her everything about himself, he would also be brave enough to tell her how he felt about her. 

But he didn’t even know how to begin, and the story of all his nightmares remained untold. “I shouldn’t have behaved that way.” 

“But I knew you would,” she wasn’t looking at him, she had taken a strand of her hair and was twining it around her finger. “Of course you would. With everything you were brought up to believe about mages. And it’s not as if a good deal of it isn’t true. But the circles and the templars — it’s a twisted solution to the problem. If the world is broken now, maybe this is our chance to build a better one, or at least try.” 

It was suddenly very difficult for him to breathe and the room was stiflingly warm. _He wanted her_ , he wanted her. He had never known it were possible for him to desire anything so strongly. The need for lyrium was nothing in comparison, that was only his body. But for her he yearned with his soul. 

And he was certain now it would be a mistake to act upon his own, selfish desires, she was not for him to have. He had to serve her and the Inquisition to the best of his abilities. 

Even if she did not believe in the Maker, the power, that mark, had been bestowed upon her for a reason. She had true clarity of mind and perspective, she was unique and that was why she had been chosen by Andraste. 

He believed she was genuine, The Herald of Andraste, even if she didn’t know it herself. 

“I agree with you,” he said softly. By Andraste, by the Maker, it would be agony. He couldn’t look at her. “I allowed my own worries to cloud my mind.” 

“I can’t tell you not to worry,” she said with the faintest smile, “and I’m not even sure I’m in full agreement with myself. You don’t have to apologise, I know you were behaving out of concern for the safety of everyone here. I, on the other hand, was angry only to cover my own insecurities.” 

If she’d only known half of it. He was looking at her again, the sight of her made his heart clench painfully but at least he could bear it for now. She suddenly asked him how he had become a templar, about what his life had been like before. He was driven to talk about himself more than he had in many year with her open curiosity and her endless questions egging him on. 

He was in the middle of a story about his sister, looking into the flames of the hearth as he tried to remember, when suddenly he realised that his audience was strangely quiet. She was curled on the pillows, her head resting on the corner of the book she had probably been reading before he disturbed her. Her eyes were closed, her long, golden-tipped eyelashes resting against her pale cheeks. 

She was transformed from her waking self. Her sleeping face hid the hard edges, she looked at peace, innocent and childlike. 

Smiling like an idiot, he picked up a quilt that had been resting over the back of his chair and covered her with it. Then, holding his breath, he carefully removed the book from beneath her cheek, the back of his hand brushing against the soft, velvety place at the nape of her neck. His breath caught in his throat — did he wake her? 

She didn’t even stir. 

He placed the book on the top of the pile of books on her bedside table and then proceeded to leave her cabin as quietly as his armour allowed. 

After gently closing the door behind him, glad for his successful escape, he came face to face with Leliana. 

Maker’s ass. 

Leliana raised her eyebrows, apparently relishing in Cullen’s discomfort. “Now everything is clear to me, Commander. It was a lovers’ quarrel back there after all.” 

His hand went straight to the back of his head. He hadn’t paused for a moment to think what this would look like. “That was… we’re not… “ He knew he was getting redder by the second. 

“Unrequited love?” 

“No, it’s not like that… I wasn’t… Maker…” 

“You should be careful then, Commander. You must understand what this looks like. If you care for appearance you ought to watch yourself.” 

Cullen had had enough with wagging tongues to last him a lifetime. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to see how such a relationship could affect the reputation of the Inquisition. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” 

“You’re mistaken,” Leliana said, shaking her head with a slight smile. “I wasn’t worried. I’m actually glad you and the Herald are close.” She noticed his expression and her smile grew dark, “though maybe not as close as you would have liked. Who knows what the future holds, Commander? I’ll be rooting for you, just imagine what beautiful children the two of you could have.” 

“Children?! Maker preserve me, Leliana —“ Cullen narrowed his eyes, “you were mocking me.” 

She laughed, “You make it too easy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what I wrote in this chapter. Baby is teething (or just has a cold) = I am a sleep-deprived zombie.


	9. Good Times in the Fallow Mire

“Aaaargh.” Sera said. Verah couldn’t agree more “Friggin creepy muddy arse-smelling corpse-stew, urgh. Bloody Fallow Mire, we just had to come to a place called _Fallow Mire._ ”

That was some of the milder profanity that came out of Sera’s mouth all day. “Well I think it’s _charming_.” Verah said cheerfully. 

“You _do_?” Cassandra exclaimed. The Seeker looked just as miserable as Sera, which meant she was hating this place even more. 

“Undead? Random demons? Fade Rifts? Mosquitos? Tribe of grisly men who want to carve out my skull? What’s not to love?” 

“Pfft, broody Cassandra ate that one up like a sucker.” Sera snorted. 

“I did not —“ 

“Admit it, you believed — friggin shite, something just brushed against my leg!” Sera squealed. 

“Oh sorry,” Cassandra said with mock innocence, “that was my foot.” 

“Arse.” 

Varric laughed, “that was actually funny, Seeker. Didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“Shut up, Varric.” 

*** 

“I’ll take first watch.” Thom volunteered once they had set up camp. He was glad to see Verahdin was decidedly better as the weeks passed and allowed her to heal from Redcliffe. She was up to her elbows with arranging for the mages in Haven and closing as many Fade Rifts as she could manage without getting herself killed. But things were finally looking brighter. He watched her laugh with Varric and Sera as they planned a celebration to mark their progress. 

“I’ll take second then.” Cassandra said, “And don’t purposefully forget to wake me and guard us all night long like you did last time…” 

“Right.” Thom said, distracted by Verah’s sudden burst of laughter. He suddenly realised that Cassandra was watching him watch Verahdin and was deeply conscious of the fact that his face revealed more than it should. 

“I’ve noticed how you look at her.. But, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She reassured him, probably noticing his wariness. 

It was a nice sentiment, but Thom couldn’t tell her that he was more worried about how Verahdin looked at _him_ sometimes. Like a cat toying with her prey as she contemplated whether or not to seduce him. Usually, it was hard to know what she thought, but occasionally she would test him — out of mischief it would seem — a flirtatious comment here, a lingering touch there, and he could feel her watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. 

It was no riddle as to why she wanted to seduce _someone_. She was a young and warm-blooded woman who had suddenly found herself in a lonely position of power. She was often in company, scratch that, she was _always_ in company, but also always apart. Of course she would want someone to stand by her side, of course she would need it. 

What he couldn’t understand was why _him_. At first he had been sure that Verahdin was involved with the Tevinter mage, Dorian. The two seemed to have quite the bond. But the more he got to know the young mage, it became quite apparent that Dorian’s romantic interests lay elsewhere. 

There was also a rumour circulating about the Herald and the Commander of the Inquisition forces. When he saw them together he had no doubt that it was no rumour but an actual fact. They were often seen conferring closely, and there was an energy between them, like the moon and the sea, they had a private language that went beyond words. 

That changed though after Redcliffe, after the mages joined the Inquisition. They still seemed to get along well, but at a carefully respectful distance. 

“It is none of my business to say,” Cassandra went on after a moment, “but I will say it anyway. Be careful with her. I think Verahdin might be more fragile than she appears. I worry about her, she hides it well but I think something happened to her before the Conclave, something terrible. You’re a good man, Blackwall, and I believe love can prevail, but please handle her with care. She deserves happiness.” 

“It’s good of you to care, but I have no intention of pursuing anything with Verahdin.” Thom said flatly. 

“Oh?” The Seeker looked flustered, as if Thom has personally rejected her. It must have sounded bad. This was far from his area of expertise. “I apologise, I thought —“ 

“You were right to think. No man can face her without being moved. Whatever you believe about me, though, I’m not worthy, I’m not what she deserves.” 

“You mustn’t say that,” Cassandra argued, “though I apologise anyway, you probably have your reasons.” 

“Just out of curiosity,” Thom lowered his voice, “what makes you think something happened to her before the Conclave?” 

“I think… I think maybe she lost someone… someone dear,” the Seeker’s dark eyes grew darker as she frowned upon remembering a painful memory of her own. “She thinks no one can see, but I… I recognise it within her. I don’t know the details, but maybe a lover, or someone in her family. She never speaks of her past.” 

“The past is a tricky thing for many of us.” 

“True, but maybe with time that can change among friends,” Cassandra smiled, “I’d like to think that, at least.” 

Thom said nothing at that. There were some things that time could only change for the worse. Thankfully, Dorian and Iron Bull returned with slimy-looking nugs for dinner and the conversation was over. 

*** 

“I must say, my dear, for someone so young who has never received any structured guidance, your barriers are some of the lovelier I have seen.” Vivienne had that particular knack of making her compliments sound like complete insults. Verah didn’t feel perturbed most of the time, especially when she reminded herself that there was much to be learned from the Imperial Enchanter. For all her titles, she was a powerful mage and Verah was happy to have her by her side. “It takes years to master such consistent patterns, darling. It’s quite astounding.” 

“Thank you, it _did_ take years to master and I feel there’s still room for improvement.” Verah said drily as Solas cocked an eyebrow nearly up to his bare scalp. Anything that involved Vivienne irritated him so much that it had reached a comical point. Verah had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Luckily she was adept enough at horse-riding by now to be able to hold the reins with one hand without feeling wobbly. “I’m not _that_ young, either.” 

“You look no more than twenty-five, darling, don’t waste that. My dear, the truth is quite unnecessary when it comes to a woman’s age.” 

“You don’t need to hide it among friends, Roses,” Varric said, “we’re curious to know more about you.” 

Verah turned in her saddle, the whole party, all eight of them, were listening attentively. She narrowed her eyes. “You. Placed. Wagers.” She accused. 

They didn’t have the luxury of looking innocent. It was blatantly obvious. “Varric started it,” Sera called. 

Verah smirked, “The important thing is that I was born, not when.” 

“Well said, darling.” Vivienne approved. There were these moments that made it so much easier to tolerate her. 

“Knew it, suck it up,” said Sera, “she’s _not even_ twenty five and she’s too embarrassed to say.” 

“Or maybe she’s closer to thirty-five and feels old admitting it.” Dorian suggested. 

“I’m with Sparkles on that one.” Varric said. 

“She’s just toying with you because you made a game out of her age.” Iron Bull said flatly. “I gave you twenty-eight, by the way, Boss, twenty-nine tops.” 

Verah’s rolled her eyes, “Why don’t all of you keep trying, maybe one day you’ll get it right.” 

“Arse.” Sera said and then turned to Varric. “We should ask Leliana, she knows stuff.” 


	10. Healing the Sky

It took a lot to organise hundreds of mages to participate in the same spell, it was two whole months before everything was ready. Everything, that is, except Verahdin who watched the sun rise on the appointed day with a numb sort of clarity that always came upon her after missing an entire night of sleep.

_”Verah, if you knew you had just one day left to live, what would you do on that day?” Miahla asked._

_”Another silly fancy, my soul?” Verah wondered, but she always humoured Miahla, always played along with her games, no matter how morbid they were. She thought over it a moment, “I’d have sweetmeats for breakfast and then spend the rest of my time with you.”_

_Miahla made a disgusted face, “You and your meat obsession. But what if I was busy or wasn’t around?”_

_”You’d be busy on my last day alive?”_

_”Just answer the question, silly.”_

“I’m _the silly one?” Verah sighed and shook her head, as always, giving in. “Fine. I’d… I don’t know, make love with someone and go fishing or something.”_

_“But you hate fishing.”_

_“I hate not spending time with you more.”_

Verah sighed, sometimes, when she remembered things like that, it felt as if Miahla had already known that she would die and as preposterous as it seemed, Verah would spend her last day alive alone. She considered acting up on her offhand comment, though there was no one she could make love to without making things complicated and the lake was too frozen for fishing. 

Besides, she looked at the glowing mark on her palm, no one aside from her was certain she was going to die today. 

“Verahdin.” She wasn’t surprised to see that Solas was awake at this hour as well, he made barely a sound as he walked through the snow and sat beside her on the low stone wall overlooking some of the village. He regarded her for a moment, “You look grim today.” 

“Solas.” She looked up at the Breach and sighed. She had been ready to die, after Miahla’s demise. Dying had been an urge, a need. She had needed the end of everything, especially herself. It wasn’t exactly that she had _wanted_ to die, back then, desire was a weak little wraith-like emotion. She just needed everything else to _stop_. A world without Miahla in it was an impossible world. 

Now though… The overpowering sense of loss was still there, still strong, but she needed too, she needed to live. “It’s strangely beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“The Breach?” 

Verah shook her, “Everything.” 

He turned his body to look at her, she looked right back at him, but his gaze was scrutinising, invasive in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She lowered her eyes. “Am I going to die today, Solas?” 

“I couldn’t answer that.” 

“I know. Everything I know about magic is telling me that nobody will be able to withstand what we’re going to do today. No matter how magically inclined, channeling this amount of power will destroy me. I can tell Dorian thinks the same, he watches me with these lost-puppy eyes every time he thinks I’m not looking.” 

“And what of your mark? Did you ever perceive it possible to wield such power?” 

“No.” 

“I have never seen anything like it. Perhaps it will surprise us yet by farther making the impossible possible.” 

She smiled briefly at the other elf. Who would have thought that a few words of wisdom could feel so warm? “Thank you, Solas. It’s better never to be certain until the end.” She let out a deep breath, feeling suddenly very weak and small. “The truth is, I’m frightened. I don’t want to die.” 

He said nothing for a while and they both looked on in contemplative silence. She was suddenly, pleasantly, brought out of her thoughts when she felt his hand on the back of her neck, sliding downward to her back and then moving in slow, almost absent-minded, circular motions. 

She closed her eyes as her body relaxed. If Miahla could have asked her now, she would have told her that if she had only one day to live, she would get someone to pet her back. 

*** 

“Mages!” Cried Solas. The ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes was windy, the night air freezing, yet the elven mage’s voice carried clear and strong. “Focus past the Herald, let her will draw from you.” 

Verahdin felt it, like a thousand daggers under her skin, the prickly attention of hundreds of mages turned on her. She pushed forward, her marked hand outstretched. Her fear had left her and she found she was anticipating whatever will come. She took another step and stood directly below the Rift connected with the Breach. 

Then she began to draw on the magic, slowly at first, but it overpowered her like a flood, washing away all her barriers. It was a metaphysical sort of pain, and she grunted with effort as she threw her hand forward. She screamed, a clear high note as her body became a passageway for power. It tore at her every particle, pulsing and flowing in churning spasms. She was blinded by light, her ears ringing with her own scream. 

How ironic, said a voice that still existed in the back of her head, a part of her that was still her. The only survivor of the Conclave, consumed by raw power on the very spot she should have died months ago. 

Suddenly the flow of power out of her body stopped, and then the mark kicked _backwards_ against the current of magic, and she was released all at once. 

She fell bonelessly on the stony ground and everything ended. 

*** 

“—id it…” Verah could hear her own breathing very loudly in her ears. She was still breathing, she was still alive. She blinked, trying to bring the swirling images before her eyes into focus, trying to make sense of the sound. 

She started with the basics. There was a hand on her shoulder. It was Cassandra’s hand. The Seeker was saying something. She did it? She did it. 

Verah knew what she would see, she _knew_ she did it, the air felt so different now. But she looked up, and looked, and looked. 

All around her, people cheered. 

The sky was healed.


	11. Still Before the Storm

_”So you’re the one they’re telling me to stay away from?”  
_

_The man’s voice was soft and deep, it trembled ever slightly, as if he purred instead of talked. She looked up from the ice rose she had been working on, off guard and cornered, eyes wide like a wild halla. She came here to this clearing to be alone, and this man was intruding on her sacred loneliness._

_He was Lasren, a hunter from the south whose clan was killed by templars some time ago. He had rescued the children and some of the women, they had journeyed far until, half-dead and starved, clan Lavellan discovered them. The orphans had been distributed among the families, the weary travellers found long-needed respite. Lasren was accepted and allowed to remain._

_For now._

_”They call you Fen’es’fan? You bring bad luck?”_

_No one called her that to her face, no one dared. The Wolf’s treasure, a person to blame for misfortunes, that was the role Verahdin had taken some years ago when she came into her magic._

_Nobody openly taunted her about it anymore. This newcomer, this_ stranger _was ill-informed. She sized him up silently, all the girls in the clan whispered about him and followed him around, with his long dark-brown hair, sharp cheekbones and emerald green eyes, he was handsome in a way that even the valaslin couldn’t spoil and taller than any man she’d met. But what kind of hunter pledged himself to Sylaise, the hearthkeeper?_

_“You’re making roses out of ice?” And nosy, he was a nosy nobody with a dark and mysterious aura. He smirked, he looked almost evil when he smiled, it was like the grin of a cat. She let the roses evaporate, just to see his reaction. He didn’t even flinch but continued looking at her curiously._

_”I don’t think you’re frightening, little wolfling.” Lasren purred, “I wouldn’t mind your bite at all.” He took a step closer, Verahdin held her ground._

_”There you are.” Miahla had that ability, appearing whenever it was time to save the wayward Verah. She glared dangerously at Lasren, taking Verah’s hand in her own. “Is he bothering you, my soul?”_

_Verah said nothing, she nor confirmed or denied, Lasren looked between her and Miahla, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I see,” he concluded, as if somehow they had revealed some hidden secret. “I can understand why a pair like you make the clan nervous.”_

_”And you, can you really afford to meddle in other people’s affairs?” Miahla’s glare was icy. “Let’s go,” she said. Verahdin allowed herself to be pulled along, but also turned her head to stare at Lasren one last time. Their eyes met for a brief instant before Miahla pulled her out of the clearing and in among the trees._

That night in Haven, fires were lit and a feast was prepared, the people wore their finest clothes and, despite the cold, danced in the streets. The world had been saved, they would all be alive to see another sunrise. The air was eerily still — as often happened right before a blizzard —but Verahdin who survived certain death yet again, felt a shadow of a fear whisper at the back of her mind. 

It wasn’t over, it was far from over. 

“Seeing you looking like this makes my heart sore.” Blackwall touched her shoulder as he sat next to her. She had found a place that was near enough the fire to keep warm and in clear view of the dancing crowds. “You ought to leave the brooding to someone who’s good at it.” 

She leaned against him and tried to smile, “Like you?” 

“I was about to suggest Cassandra, but I guess I’ll suffice. What ails you, m’lady?” 

She sighed and looked darkly ahead, all attempts at smiles forgotten. “He’s still out there… this Elder One. The Breach was _nothing_ compared to what he could concoct.” 

“All the more reason to take our victories where we can. As a warden, it’s all I can ever do. There will always be lurking evil in the dark, you just have to hold on tight and solve one problem at a time.” 

“Hm.” Verah couldn’t quite think of what to say. All the magic of closing the Breach had left her feeling sore, as if her insides, whatever part it was that channeled magical power, was in tatters. She felt raw and torn open. She also felt extremely lonely, and at that precise moment the lone warden by her side seemed like a definite solution to her loneliness. 

She hadn’t considered him attractive at first, she hadn’t considered him at all. He was quite different from Lasren who, even up till this day, was the model of a man in her mind. It was hard to top someone like Lasren regardless. She briefly wondered, if she invited Blackwall to keep her company tonight, would he oblige? 

She pushed that thought back, Blackwall was not a man driven by desire, he would require her heart and she wasn’t sure she had enough of a heart to give. She did have desire, though. She let her head fall on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her, naturally, as if they had done this countless times. 

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. 

_”What is it about wrong things that make them feel so right?” Lasren had whispered in awe after that first night, when she and Miahla both had shared him. Verah rolled over to face him, he had kept up quite well, she rested her cheek against the side of his neck listening to Miahla’s breathing as she slept._

_”Who decides right from wrong?” she wondered, sleepily._

_Lasren laughed, a short, guttural laugh of the wearied lover, “Not us.”_

*** 

It occurred to Cullen that until this moment in his adult life he had no reason to feel jealous and even now he didn’t have the _right_ to. But Verahdin and Warden Blackwall were displaying unmistakable signs of mutual affection that tore through his heart like so many swords. 

The disgust he felt was only towards himself, just because he decided she was off limits didn’t mean she didn’t deserve to have someone’s company. It was utter idiocy to feel possessive over something that was never his to begin with. 

“That there, my friend, is the definition of an accident waiting to happen.” The young Tevinter mage, Dorian was standing by the Commander with a tall goblet of wine in his hand. The rumour of Verah and Dorian seemed to surface every now and then, the two _were_ rather close, but when Cullen saw them together it reminded him more of his relationship with his siblings than anything romantic. 

“Why? From what I gathered, Warden Blackwall is —“ 

“—A complete mystery? Lacking in any personal history? Strangely ignorant about darkspawn and the blight? From what I heard about Grey Wardens, they’re a dodgy lot. He’s a whole lot of manly man, I’ll give him that.” 

“Everyone has their reasons for not being open about their past.” 

“Naturally. He will doubtlessly be a wonderful lover, but I can’t shake the feeling that it will end badly. It’s still not too late for you, you know. You could still tell her.” 

Cullen was taken aback, was he that transparent? “I beg your pardon?” 

“I have a sense for these things, she was hoping you’d come to her, but she’s in an uncertain position herself, so she’d rather go for something that she thinks she can’t spoil too badly. Please tell me you’ve noticed it too, that Verahdin is in desperate need for a —“ 

Cullen held up a gloved hand, “Please. Don’t.” He didn’t want to participate in any gossip, especially anything that involved _her_

“Anyway,” Dorian went on after a sip from his wine, by now it was very clear that he had had plenty to drink. “She is a young, dazzling, living, breathing and walking piece of history. How she sparkles and shines and moves people. It will certainly happen soon, the question is, with who?” 

There was no point hiding it, Cullen hated the distance he had created between them, “I couldn’t, she —“ 

“Oh, but you could. You seem very capable to _me_.” The young man raised his goblet, “A toast to the handsome former templar knight-captain who may yet still come out of this night victorious, if he possesses the right amount of courage and, er, stamina.” 

He had no doubt now why there was nothing romantic between Verahdin and Dorian. Still, the Tevinter mage did leave a lasting impression. It wasn’t too late for them, it was still possible. As Dorian excused himself to go hunt down more wine, Cullen looked at her again, Blackwall had gone somewhere, she was alone. He could probably go over there, he could possibly talk to her. 

That was when the captain on duty found him and all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY COMPUTER NEARLY DIED. Thankfully, it suddenly changed its mind. Hooray! So, I know you all know that we will be heading off to Skyhold soon, that's where all the really steamy things happen.... and they will be rather... steamy. Promise.


	12. Enter Cole

Alone again, Verah threw back her head and looked at the sky. You could still see a shimmering line of gentle greenish-purple light whenever the clouds parted long enough. It was pretty and strange and if she let her mind wander while looking at it she could feel the Fade’s soft glimmer behind the Veil all around her.

That, or she was just bone tired. “Verahdin,” said a familiar voice and she smiled up at Cassandra. She knew this talk was coming, the Seeker wasn’t keen on wasting time and loved to mix business with pleasure. She liked that about Cassandra, the way she moved forward no matter what and never stayed idle. The only trouble, Verah assumed, was for Cassandra herself who must be weary from spending all her life in her own company setting an impossible pace. 

“With the Breach closed, the Inquisition will need new focus,” Cassandra was saying, and there was no truer statement, an organisation like the Inquisition would only falter and fail if it didn’t have a unifying cause to fuel its progress. 

“I think we both know what that —“ Verah began, and then the bells in the watch towers started ringing. The same bells that warned the people of Haven of approaching demons that had fallen from the Breach. For the briefest moment Verahdin wondered if perhaps this was some sort of prank, but then she heard Cullen’s shout from somewhere, clear and commanding. “Forces approaching! To arms!” 

Chaos and confusion erupted, the celebrating soldiers began running to the barracks, the villagers cried out in fear. 

Verah was, thankfully, still wearing her mage robes — they had been cleaned and mended and were the most formal clothing she owned at the moment, but her staff was safely stowed in her cabin. “Regroup at the gate,” she called before breaking into a mad dash towards her cabin. 

She found her staff and thankfully some ready-made healing and lyrium potions, when she approached the gate everyone was there, ready, waiting. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked. 

“One watch guard reporting,” Cullen said, “it’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” 

“Under what banner?” Josephine demanded. 

Cullen turned to her with a grim expression, “None.” 

“None?” The ambassador looked as if all the natural order of the world had just been disrupted. 

Something tickled at the end of Verah’s consciousness, a strange presence that felt demonic in a surprisingly… bright way? Wrinkling her brow, she looked towards the hulking oak gates of the town and noticed Solas’s attention falling in the same direction. 

Something hammered against the wood, she gravitated forward, transfixed. Something banged against the gates again. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” Cried a desperate, boyish voice from the other side. Someone was trapped out of the village? Though the voice was strange in a way that Verah couldn’t quite place. 

She ran towards the gate, there was no time to question. Whatever else, the desperation in the voice was real. Seeing her approach, the guards unbarred the heavy doors and pushed them open. 

A huge lumbering soldier in armour that was certainly not Inquisition armour stood before her, was he that one that called? Her hand made for her staff. The soldier gasped and then gurgled and fell like a pile of bones to the ground. Before her stood a gangly young man — little more than an overgrown boy, wielding two daggers and wearing threadbare clothes and a broad-rimmed hat that shadowed most of his face. She could see his wide mouth though, and he looked up at her through tangled hair that fell over his eyes. 

Even in the darkness, she knew he wasn’t her enemy, his eyes shone with a peculiar kind of kindness. “I’m Cole,” he said when she approached. “I came to _warn_ you. To _help_.” He moved about as he talked, as a person often would when driven by some strong passion. “People are coming to _hurt_ you…” He drew towards her with one long stride, as if he wanted to shield her from the people of which he spoke. “You probably already know.” 

She blinked at him. She _did_ know. This wasn’t how she thought it would be, and it was sooner than she imagined it would happen, but it was what she had feared. “You mean…” 

“The templars come to kill you.” Cole said in a low voice and Verah’s lips parted, her insides making a summersault. She had only magic, and all these people to protect. How could she fight this? How could she win against templars? 

“Templars?” Cullen charged forward, his face contorted with rage, his sword drawn, as if in his anger he was ready to attack the boy. Verah grabbed Cullen’s arms as Cole lightly leapt away, swifter than she had ever seen any human move. “Is this the order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” 

Cole cocked up his chin and squared his shoulders, looking straight at the Commander. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” he explained to Cullen. 

The Elder One, a shiver ran through Verah. “You know him?” Cole asked, turning towards her as if he could feel her thoughts. “He knows _you_.” He drew closer, his eyes gleaming. “You took his mages.” And he danced away, stretching out his arm and pointing towards the mountain. “There.” 

She could see the approaching force now, countless soldiers holding square Templar shields, their armour gleaming in the moonlight. Where Cole pointed stood a man, just an ordinary looking man. 

“I know that man!” Cullen began, and then he appeared — The Elder One. 

The creature drew out from the shadows, looking more like a demon than anything real. The Elder One was tall and hideously skulking, with long bony arms and clawed hands. She could not make out more from the distance, but then he looked directly at her. She shivered, a ball of fear mixed with hopelessness churning in her stomach, she could _feel_ the killing intent, it was almost tangible and made her want to balk. 

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.” Cole said. 

She tore her gaze away from the Elder One. He was surrounded by a sea of people. So many. _So many_. She drew a deep, shaking breath and steadied herself. “Cullen, give me a plan!” she said sharply, turning towards the commander, “ _Anything!_ ” 

Cullen’s eyes blazed, his mind had already been at work. This was a hopeless battle, but the smallest chance remained as long as they still lived. All attention fell on him as the soldiers and the mages awaited guidance, awaited salvation. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” His gaze moved to the line of trebuchets that stood ready outside the gate of the town. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” 

All the Commander’s extra precautions suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched. Verah felt a wave of gratitude wash over her at the mere fact that Cullen existed. The urge to kiss him was stronger than ever. If they somehow lived through this, if there was any future at all, she told herself, she would. 

She pushed the thought from her mind. Not now. She had other matters to attend to. As Cullen addressed his men and the mages, she turned to her own inner circle, her companions that were gathered near. “We’ll bring the mountain down on them before they can fall upon us. We need to protect the trebuchets long enough for Cullen’s people to load and shoot. “Dorian, Solas, Iron Bull and the Chargers, you protect the southern trebuchets, the rest of you come with me. We can do this. When this is over, drinks are on me.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Iron Bull called. 

“I knew it was too easy.” Varric said as the group split up. 

“Speak for yourself, I just had the magic of three hundred mages poured through me earlier tonight.” Verah said as she uncorked a lyrium potion and drank it in one gulp. “That wasn’t easy.” 

She cast a barrier around herself, Cassandra and Varric, Vivienne took care of Blackwall and Sera. “Are you alright, darling?” the Imperial Enchanter asked. “Should you even be out here?” 

Casting felt like trying to use a muscle that had been worn past fatigue. “Should and could have nothing to do with tonight.” She began setting an array of fire mines all around the trebuchet. “Get ready, they’re coming.” 

*** 

Snow began to fall heavily. 

It was like one of those nightmares Cullen always had had before an exam where he forgot everything he had to know and arrived before his trainers without his breeches on and with his teeth falling out. Except this nightmare was a reality and his breeches were the least of his problems. 

She was out there, fighting, he couldn’t protect her or anyone else, not when the power was distributed so unevenly. If it had been up to him, he would have ordered her stay locked inside the Chantry, but she had to fight alongside the soldiers, she was their fighting spirit, she was their mascot, she pushed people to be beyond themselves. 

And if they were to survive, they had to be beyond everything. 

He had been worried about Haven’s lack of defensibility from the start, to be attacked here had been his greatest fear. He had made this plan long ago as a desperate attempt to protect the village somehow. The problem was when you used something like a mountain as an actual tool in battle, it could work against you. They could bury themselves beneath the snow along with their enemies. He had calculated it as best he could, only the trebuchets inside the village itself were aimed in a way he was almost certain would kill them all. But they won’t use those, it wouldn’t come to that. 

Maker, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

He felt a swell of pride when he saw his men move into position, and then when the fighting began. Some of them hadn’t had much time to train properly, but they were driven by a fire that made them indestructible against… the templars. 

Andraste’s tears, what had they _done_ to themselves? They didn’t even look like people anymore, their deathly pale faces radiated a ghastly reddish glow, some of them had red spikes grotesquely perturbing out of their skin. He had read Verahdin’s report about the future she had witnessed in Redcliffe, red lyrium was an infection, growing out of people who would later be harvested to make more. This is what happened to people who ingested it. This was what the Templar Order had succumbed to. 

He could have been among them, he could have been a Red Templar. 

He was glad of his decision, never to touch lyrium again, although it mattered very little if they were all going to die tonight. 

The trebuchets were ready, he released the signal to begin firing and held his breath. There was a moment in which everything was still, it felt as if someone had thrown a blanket over his ears, there was no sound but the feathery fall of snow. And then came the crash, and the rumbling roar of the avalanche followed by the splintering of wood and the cries of their enemies as they were overtaken by snow and stones. 

It had worked! Maker, they had done it! The field erupted with the cry of triumph of hundreds. 

And it all ended with the dry flap of leathery wings and the rumbling gurgle of a dragon just before it breathed fire. Cullen saw only one wing and the tip of its tail and he knew they would die tonight. 

“Retreat!” He called. 

*** 

They all knew they were going to die, and yet she seemed to remain unconvinced, light blue eyes dancing in her pale dirt-streaked face. “Verahdin, our position is not good.” Cullen said, “That dragon stole back any time you might’ve earned us.” 

She pursed her lips together, her face set in an expression of determined stubbornness. 

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole, the strange boy said. What manner of creature _was_ this boy? He was sitting on the floor, caring for Chancellor Roderick who had been mortally wounded. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” 

He was in the Fade? A mage, then. Well, mages were always strange. 

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen cried, exasperated not at the boy, but at their desperate situation. “It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!” 

“The Elder one doesn’t care about the village,” Cole said in a quietly certain way that made a shiver run down Cullen’s spine. “He only wants the Herald.” How did this young mage even know the thoughts of that monster? 

Verah looked at him and then back at Cole. “If it will save these people, he can have me.” she said. 

“It won’t.” Cole stated with the same clear certainty. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.” It was a strange and childish thing to say, almost as if Cole expressed his opinion on a certain type of food or manner of dress. 

Cullen shook his head, it didn’t matter anyway. “Verahdin,” he said her name softly,. “We’re out of options. We’re dying, but we have a few remaining trebuchets, we can take as many of them down with us…” 

“Cullen, that’s —“ 

“Yes! That.” Cole called. “Chancellor Roderick wants to help. He wants to say it before he dies.” 

Verahdin looked bewildered, both of them had been standing right there, Roderick had never spoken about wanting to help. In a hoarse, halting voice, the old cleric told them of a way for the people to escape, a path known only to him through the Chantry. 

“Cullen,” his blood ran like ice when she said his name. She was locked, determined. “get the people out, I will hold his attention and buy you time.” 

_No_. Maker _please_ no. She had a plan, she would not die, not like this. He licked his lips. “What of your escape?” 

She turned away. It struck him then how small she looked from behind, with her thin arms and legs, it was easy to mistake her for just a girl. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her not to go, he wanted to hold her, to _tell_ her what she meant to him. 

But he did none of those things. He couldn’t trust himself to say anything. He knew she had to go, he knew that if she didn’t everything would be lost. “Farewell, Cullen. Please… thank the others for me. Tell them… I forbid them to come.” 

She didn’t intend to take any of her friends down with her, she would face that creature alone.


	13. Let the Night Yield

Considering their hasty escape, they were surprisingly well organised. The Chantry had held a good part of the village’s stores, and they had easy access to the carts and Druffalo. Not that it made travel any faster and easier when the minutes ticked by. The small contingent of brave volunteers that Cullen had sent to aid Verahdin with loading and aiming the trebuchets returned when they were nearly past the treeline. Half of the soldiers from the contingent had perished and more than half of those who lived were injured, but he was told that Verahdin was still alive.

And then they were out in the open again, he could see the village below and there, a tiny lone figure stood by one of the trebuchets, illuminated by the burning houses all around her. 

People cried and pointed, the Herald stood as their saviour. They prayed to Andraste to guide her, they prayed to the Maker protect her. She held her ground before the dragon, but the archdeacon was called back by its master. Then that monster was upon her. 

Cullen couldn’t bear it. Make no! No, no, _no_. It clutched at her, lifting her up into the air as if she were nothing but a doll. It would kill her slowly, as it relished in its victory. 

“Send up the signal.” Cullen commanded, his voice dry, flat and defeated. Verahdin’s companions had not taken well to being left behind, they had argued about it amongst themselves. Blackwall had nearly gone with her anyway and had had to be bodily held back by the others. She would want to save as many lives as was possible, she would want her sacrifice to mean something. 

“She regrets.” Cole said by Cullen’s shoulder. Where had that boy appeared from? The Commander felt his skin crawl. “She wanted to kiss you, she regrets she never did, but she was worried about hurting you and making you sad.” 

“How do you even…?” The boy was unnerving, where did he come up with these things? 

“Blood warm like the golden afternoon sunlight as it falls on my skin. We hold hands like when we were children. Two deep pools of the palest blue, the light slowly fades from Miahla’s eyes…” Cole gazed off into the distance as he spoke, his voice flat, as if he were reciting a poem. He looked back at Cullen. “Her pain is _very_ loud, like a wound that screams instead of bleeds, it touches many things. She is severed, separated, split, solitary, singular. She still doesn’t mind dying even though she was beginning to learn to _like_ being alive.” 

Cullen stared, could it be that this boy was talking about Verahdin? “What are you? What do you know of her?” 

There was no time for Cole to answer, indeed, all the questions became irrelevant as the trebuchet fired triggering the slide that covered Haven. 

They were, all of them, frozen and numb. Cullen hadn’t had the urge to weep in years, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to keep himself composed. He couldn’t allow emotion to overtake him, not when he had to somehow get all of these people to safety. The night would be long and a blizzard was coming. 

He turned to address the people and paused. Josephine was leaning on Leliana, her shoulders shaking from her sobs, Cassandra was biting her lip and staring at the buried village with the look of one who had seen the end of all hope. Dorian had his face in his hands and Blackwall was staring at his feet with his brow furrowed, Sera had her arms crossed was swearing through her teeth and Solas looked surprisingly hostile. 

No one was inclined to move. 

“Gather your things,” Cullen called, his voice sounding strangled in his ears, “We march with haste. We must make her sacrifice mean… everything.” 

*** 

They didn’t make it very far that night. A blizzard began to blow across the mountain. The path was rough and they had many injured. They finally came upon a flat expanse shielded by the mountainside that would make an appropriate campsite. In the very centre of the expanse there grew a small tree, or perhaps a shrub, the likes of which Cullen had never seen. Its leaves were purplish, almost pink and it was heavy with clusters of ripe-looking silvery-blue bell-shaped berries that had not frozen despite the cold. “I believe this is a Covuretberry bush,” Solas said and he was smiling. “It is a long-lived plant that only blooms in harsh conditions and bears fruit once in twelve years, the leaves are good for healing festering wounds and the berries for curing frostbite.” 

“Good to know,” Cullen said, “I’ll tell the healers to use it for the wounded.” 

“It’s a curious coincidence that we happened upon it.” Solas continued, looking at the others with a strange gleam in his eyes. “In elven it is called Verahdin — ‘The one that grows through time’.*” 

They all regarded the shrub with renewed interest, the plant’s trunk was thick, clumped and silvery, resembling an olive tree in its unevenness. Cullen felt — fool that he was — how his heart sped. Surly this was a sign that she still lived. She was a survivor of so much, a legend made into flesh. If anyone could manage to survive all this, it was her. 

Ever the spirit of faith, Cassandra said, “She’s still alive, I know it in my heart. I propose we form a search party. She _will_ come this way, but I worry she won’t find this camp.” 

Cullen wanted to argue against it for the mere reason that he was afraid to fuel his foolish hope and then face the devastation of discovering she was dead. But his urge to run into the blizzard calling her name was even greater. “It would be no less than miracle if she survived.” He said, hesitantly. Unlike Cassandra, the fires of his faith had long ago out-burned themselves. “But we should at least make the attempt.” 

“Count me in with you, then.” Blackwall volunteered. 

“I would feel much better with myself if I came along as well.” Dorian said. 

Iron Bull, Solas, Varric and Sera volunteered themselves as well though Vivienne elected to remain. They split into two groups of four and Cullen directed them to return to camp after no more than two hours. There was no knowing how much of the enemy army had survived the landslide, they needed to move on at daybreak. 

Cullen, Cassandra, Sera and Dorian took the east path through the trees while the other group took the west path. The snow fell so thickly it was hard to see ahead in the darkness. If the landslide didn’t kill her, certainly this blizzard would. 

*** 

“We must turn back,” Cassandra said, her voice breaking at the end. The Seeker sounded unlike herself. She was crushed. 

“This is stupid.” Sera cried, angry. “She wouldn’t just die for stupid. Andraste, what’s with this mess? It’s all backwards. That’s not how this is supposed to go!” 

“Maybe the others found her?” Dorian suggested, but by the flatness of his tone it was clear he hadn’t even convinced himself. 

Maybe she was still there, just round that bend, maybe if they walked a little more, she would suddenly appear. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked. They had turn back, he stood still for a moment, looking into the swirling snowflakes and the dark, still shapes of boulders and trees. Maker, please, _please_ let the night yield, just this once, let her be alive, let them _find_ her. 

Silence, nothing but the falling snow. Cullen turned away. 

And then turned back. He had seen it, from the corner of his eye, the faintest greenish glimmer. Was it his imagination? He scanned the sloping darkness. Did something move? 

Maker, 

“There!” he cried, “It’s her!” 

Thank you, thank you, _thank you_. 

He ran through the deep snow, faltering, almost falling. There was no mistake, it was her mark beckoning to him. She had fallen to her knees, but he was upon her. She couldn’t speak through her shivering lips, he pulled off his fur-lined cloak, wrapping it about her before he lifted her out of the snow, crushing her to his chest. 

She was as light as a child, curling in his arm. Her ice-encrusted eyelashes fluttered as she fought to remain conscious. “It’s alright. We found you,” he whispered, feeling his own eyes were moist with tears, “I have you. Maker, I have you, Verahdin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The name Verahdin,, of course, is my invention and there is probably a proper study of Dragon Age elven somewhere which I did not reference to and this name most likely won't work with. All I can say to my defense is, just take it as it is and enjoy the ride.


	14. The Path Paved

_”What are you doing. Eleo?” Miahla demanded.  
_

_”Hush, my soul, can’t you see she’s upset?” Verahdin walked forward, calm despite the notched arrow that was pointed right at her face. Eleothried was only twelve, she had not quite become a woman yet but she already knew much about pain and suffering. “You plan to kill me, little sis?”_

_”Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why did they think it’s right to lie to me? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” The girl demanded through her tears, the bow in her hands shaking._

_“Istimaethoriel forbade anyone from saying anything.” Verahdin admitted, Miahla rolled her eyes, “She thought it would be best if you never knew.”_

_”Since when do_ you _follow anything the Keeper says?” Of course Eleothried would think that of Verahdin, it was who she had to be to everyone except Miahla._

_”And did I follow?”_

_The girl lowered the bow slightly. Eleothried was her younger sister, how could she stay away? She had been there, in the shadows of the girl’s life, maintaining a presence, dropping subtle hints. The Keeper had warned her off several times, but her intervention was harmless, in the end it wasn’t Verahdin who had revealed the truth._

_It was Shyrial, the woman that Eleothried had believed was her mother._

_”You shouldn’t have been told. That is the only injustice Shyrial has done you.” Miahla was seething, “Brat, put that down before you hurt yourself. Istimaethoriel was right in her decision. She wanted what was best for you and for the clan and you take that for granted. Do you have any idea the favour that was done to you? A Keeper has to make the hard decisions no one else can, and you, you insolent child, can’t even accept that.”_

_Eleothried lowered the bow as instructed, her lips trembling. “Everything I thought I knew, my whole life, is a lie.”_

_Verahdin sighed and exchanged a glance with Miahla, sometimes it felt like they thought with one mind. “Welcome to the world of adults, little sis.”_

After three days of putting as much distance between themselves and Haven, the next objective was to find a suitable place to take what was left of the Inquisition. At first Verahdin had been too injured to know what was happening, the waking world had become a dream, a shivering, frightened dream. She had not been able to distinguish between the present from memory, walking in the Fade or waking to reality. Solas maintained a steady presence at her side at all times, even when she slept, he was there, fending off demons, it would seem. 

The others visited her, a stream of visits she could barely keep track of. 

_”It’s alright, we found you. I have you. Maker, I have you, Verahdin.”_ He had held her like a treasure, and the sound of his voice dripped like warm honey through her soul. Whenever she was there again, in his arms, she recognised that as yet another delusion, one she was content to experience time and time again. 

Gradually, her injuries began to heal, and reality took the same old shape for longer expanses in time. Except, of course, it wasn’t the same. She had changed yet again, she had faced a Darkspawn magister named Corypheus and his bone-shatteringly deep voice was the music of her nightmares. 

And she was alive. Slowly, she came to terms with that again. She blinked up into Cullen’s face. A delusion? No, it was real. “You said something?” he asked. “I think it was in elven.” 

Oh, they had been talking, he had been telling her that they were… debating? She had fallen asleep again. Where had she gone this time? What had she said? 

“It sounded like a name to me…” Varric said. Varric? Was he here too? She looked at the dwarf. Right. He was. “Eleo-something…” 

“Eleothried, my sister.” Verah said instantly without thinking. Suddenly, she was fully awake, blinking hard at the tent, Solas was here as well, Sera too and… Blackwall over there and, shit, Leliana and Josephine were here and _listening_. They were all looking at her with keen interest. Oh, old wives, the lot of them. She had revealed too much. 

“You have a sister?” Varric asked when it would clear she would reveal no more “And here I was beginning to suspect you really _did_ just fall out of the sky with no personal background to speak of.” 

Verah shrugged, she didn’t trust herself to speak, she was terrible with lies and there was no way to banish her life’s story with just a few backhanded comments. 

“Actually,” Leliana said and Verah’s heart stopped short, “according to her clan she either has five brothers and two sisters, or five sisters and _eight_ brothers, depending who you ask and the day of the week and you’d be astounded if you heard the quantity of husbands and children. The Dalish are quite competent at keeping their secrets secret.” 

She didn’t dare look at Leliana, not even to convey her thanks for the rescue. When Verah had first arrived in Haven, she had taken issue with her clan’s name being made public. She hadn’t wanted to involve the Lavellan clan in any of this — they deserved to be left alone, she had caused them enough trouble as it was. At first she believed it was Leliana’s doing and had exchanged a few harsh words with the spymaster. In the end, it was no other but Keeper Istimaethoriel who had sent a letter to Haven inquiring after Verahdin via an elaborate chain of merchants and smugglers that had revealed clan Lavellan to the world. 

Now, on top of everything else, she worried for them as well. 

“Let’s take this talk outside,” Josephine suggested. “Lady Lavellan can join us when she’s ready.” 

The talk was the usual argument, a debate that simply couldn’t be resolved. Verah was useless in this as well. They were alive, for now, but they had nowhere to go, their stores were running low and today had been the first day since the Red Templars’ attack that it hadn’t snowed. They had to do something, or perish. 

And the more they weighed their choices, the more hopeless it all became. It seemed as if the Inquisition was going to fail well before it was fully erected. 

Several people started filing out of the tent, some remained but Verah just allowed her head to fall back on the pillows. She noticed Solas shift in the corner right before she faded into the Fade. 

*** 

Verahdin was certain she was hallucinating. Cullen, Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine had been arguing just outside her tent, Mother Giselle had come to try and talk some faith into her. She had felt disgusted, not because of Mother Giselle — that was just what kindly Chantry mothers did — but because a part of her was beginning to panic. How was she _still alive_ yet again? 

To die. It was something people did on a daily basis. It seemed to happen everywhere, all the time, all around her people died. And yet she faced death again, and again and again… 

What was going on? It frightened her. 

She had risen to her still-weak feet and had wrapped herself in furs before leaving the tent in a huff. And then, the next thing she knew, they were — everyone — singing a hymn, and on their knees in the snow, and she was at the centre. She felt the world was off its hinge and tipping sideways slightly, Solas was at her elbow, steadying her. 

“A word?” he asked, rescuing her back to reality. He paved a path for the Inquistion, she took it. 

She should have wondered more, but she had been too preoccupied at the time, and then the days, weeks, months to come… 

It slipped her mind. 


	15. Chase Away the Loneliness

“What’s this?” Verahdin asked.

“Lady Lavellan, may I introduce Ser Zacari Secchi, Master tailor from Antiva. He has arrived this morning to arrange a wardrobe for you, Your Worship.” Josephine introduced brightly. 

“Er?” Verah tried, she was quite speechless, the man was a human-sized parrot, but aside from his dress he was quite the specimen of a man. Surly, Josephine was aware of it by the sly gleam in her eye. 

“A pleasure to do you service, Your Worship.” said the man in a rolling Antivian accent and a flourishing bow. “If you could just come this way, we will take your measurements.” 

Verah blushed, what was going on? Naturally, she was aware tailors existed in the world, she just didn’t really understand what measuring her would accomplish in the scheme of things. From what she knew about clothes, you just took what was more or less your size and then adjusted it as you went along. Apparently, in the parts of Thades where people had food delivered to the door of their home things worked quite differently. “Er… why?” she finally asked. 

“Ho ho.” The tailor’s laughter was more like a declaration of mirth than actual laughter. “No one mentioned the Herald of Andraste had a _sense of humour_. This is a most exciting development.” 

Verah looked to Josephine for help. The ambassador bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, apparently distressed by her lack of cooperation. “Now that we’re in Skyhold, nobles from all corners of Thades will be clamouring to meet the great and fabled Herald of Andraste. We must work on a mode of dress that will bring out your natural assets.” 

“My… my natural assets?” Verah’s face went an even deeper shade of crimson. She was quite aware of her beauty, but where she came from, people didn’t talk about the… other parts of her body in such a offhand manner. 

Josephine, realising her blunder was blushing profusely too. “Anyway, there isn’t much time. You must look your best for the ceremony.” She squeaked in a high-pitched voice. 

“What ceremony?” 

Josephine blinked, cocking her head to the side as if Verah had just spoken elven. “The ceremony, of course.” 

“And which ceremony is that?” 

“You…” Josephine paled, “don’t know? Lady Pentaghast didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

*** 

It was something that Iron Bull had said that eventually made Verahdin resign, yet again, to the odd twists and turns her fate seemed to take. They needed a leader who would make the hard decision, like a Keeper, only bigger. She _had_ made decisions where others couldn’t, she had stepped forward and shaped the path that the Inquisition would take. So they made her The Inquisition, and again, Verah was reminded of what The Iron Bull said — _The_ Inquisitor, she wasn’t even a person anymore. 

And the title inspired a kind of wariness within her. In her mind’s eye she pictured a tall, imposing woman, dressed in black, with eagle eyes that saw to a distance, into people’s hearts and minds. Ser Zacari Secchi had made her a greyish-ivory coloured dress made of stiff fabric that hugged her frame in such a way that made it hard to breathe or walk long strides. Somehow, with long and straight lines, the dress made her taller than she actually was, portraying her as both sensual and elegant, soft and sharp. 

Wherever she went in Skyhold, people turned to watch her pass by. The Inquisitor, not quite the frightening creature she pictured herself to be, but her presence caused people to converse in hushed voices, or simply stop altogether to admire her. 

It had been some weeks since they had arrived in Skyhold. Still badly injured, Verahdin had been kept in bed and out of everyone’s way. There seemed to be an endless stream of things she had to take care of and arrange and the rest of the time she had been content to keep company with books. Most of her companions were rather busy with one thing or another. In that time, Solas was her most frequent visitor but only because Dorian couldn’t spy upon her through her dreams like Solas did. Both men, in their own way, were aware of the dangers being mentally disturbed posed for a mage and did everything they could to help. 

And it did help. She found her focus through studies, through knowledge. When her eyes were tired from reading she drilled Josephine with questions about the intricate workings of the nobility of Thades, or listened to Solas’s stories about his journeys through the Fade. Her mind was always at work, which was the best way to ease it. 

And her mind _was_ as easy as it would ever be. It was just, in those days after Haven, she felt it, all about her. Like a wind against her face, a howling emptiness in the chambers of her heart, a dark void at the back of her mind. 

Loneliness. She wondered sometimes why she had never encountered a spirit of loneliness before. Surly, there was enough of that emotion in the world to echo in the Fade so strongly they should have been up to their ears with Loneliness demons. She had always lived with a certain amount of loneliness in her life, even when Miahla was alive. 

But she had never realised how alone and empty one could come to be. Her role in the world, her task, set her apart from everyone else. 

She had her own suit off the Main Hall of the castle, right above the War room. It was a room large enough to fit half her clan with a desk at one end and a large bed at the other. She usually ended up sleeping on the sofa in the sitting area where she read by the fire at night. She blinked up from the book she had been reading, a history of the Tevinter imperium that Dorian had gotten for her, and looked about the room. 

It was too empty. Too large, too empty and too quiet. The book fell into her lap as she hugged her arms around herself. It hurt, but at the same time she marvelled at the strange sensation, was she losing her mind? It wouldn’t be such a surprise if she did. She ran across the room and shot underneath the covers of the bed, burying herself in the mountain of pillows. She had always been scared of being truly alone. Now she was alone and it was as frightening as she had imagined. 

*** 

She followed Solas up the worn steps and only then paused to look about herself. The village was quiet, and sleeping, the snow taking on a pinkish-greenish hue from the light of the Breach. “It’s been what… three nights since I last dreamt about Haven?” 

Solas turned to her, surprised that she addressed him. She had always been aware of his presence, but she had never spoken with him or allowed him to walk freely in her dreams. Her consciousness automatically barred out intruders, she had thought of attempting to let him enter just to see if it were possible. 

It was, and it had been frightfully easy. “Now at least I know you’re really Solas. You were always there and I thought that maybe I have a secret infatuation with you that my waking self didn’t know about.” It was hard to hold back on speech in dreams. It was hard to not say everything that came to mind. In the Fade, what you thought was what you expressed. 

“Spectacular, your dreams are so vivid, this is the anchor’s doing?” 

Verah nodded, “My nightmares are vivid too.” She added grimly. 

“You come here to hide from your nightmares.” 

“I do?” She looked around, it was a strangely peaceful memory of Haven, she wondered if she had ever seen the village like this. It had always been in a kind of busy chaos. Maybe this was the sleepy, peaceful place that lay underneath the Inquisition. “I guess you’re right, but I wonder why Haven?” 

“Because it is a familiar place and it’s important to you.” 

Verah walked past him, looking up at the doors of the Chantry. The real Haven lay buried and burnt, with the remains of people she had known for months among the rubble, it was almost easy to forget that here. “How does this work exactly? I’ve never had people visit my dreams before. It feels…strange,” she looked up at Solas who was studying her. “Not in a bad way. You kept the demons away, I could have dealt with them…” 

“I know.” 

“But it made things easier for me.” She smiled, “Do you think you can teach me how to do that?” 

“You want to learn?” 

“Why does that surprise you?” 

“Because not many wish to broaden their understanding of the Fade.” 

“I think my title as Inquisitor implies about my nature. If I were a spirit, or perhaps a demon, I would be spirit of inquisitiveness. There is so much I want to know, but knowing never satisfies my curiosity, I ask questions, but there is more to wonder about than I’m capable of seeing.” 

“Such as?” 

“Well,” she looked up at the sky, at the Breach wreathed in a swirl of soft-looking pink clouds, at the powdery snow and finally at Solas. “You, for one thing.” 

He smiled, in here, in the Fade, she realised, he looked different. There was something wild about his smile, almost animalistic in quality. The civilised, scholarly mage had a part of him that was almost savage, here in the world that dreams. “What of me do you think you are incapable of seeing?” 

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” 

“Good point.” 

“But it’s… just this odd feeling. Like I should know who you are, more than you’re willing to tell me. It’s not something I feel when I see you while awake, but here…” She looked him over. When she focused her attention on him, he was too bright to look at, brighter than any spirit or demon she had seen in the Fade. “It almost feels like I’ve known you before, but I forgot.” 

She laughed at herself, her own words sounded ridiculous to her. But there you had it, this was the Fade and the strange logic of dreams was at work. 

“I would add perceptive as another aspect of your nature, but that is all I will say about that.” 

“Have it your way,” she could respect that, after all, there were things she didn’t want the other to know about her… She froze and stared at him, her eyes wide. “Of my nightmares, what did you see?” 

He sensed her change in mood and frowned. She forced herself to be calm, such feelings had no place inside a dream. Whatever he saw, he saw. It had already happened. “I couldn’t make sense of it,” Solas admitted, “the echoes of your memories are… unusual.” 

“They’re simpler than you think, but _that_ is all I will tell you.” She said, echoing his previous statement. 

“I confess, I had hoped to gleam a better understanding of you,” Solas said, turning from her and looking at the distance, “I didn’t intend to invade so deeply, I apologise. You must understand that you…” He shook his head, as if trying to hold back his own words. “I did not expect you to be as you are.” 

There was an uncomfortable feeling at the centre of her stomach, as if suddenly the gravity of the whole world was inside her. “And what does that mean, exactly?” she asked. 

“You posses a rare and beautiful spirit. Just when I think I’ve figured you out, you surprise me. You show thoughtfulness and wisdom that surpass your years. I found myself watching you, waiting for what you would do and say next.” 

She felt flattered, and that little, pathetic creature in her heart that yearned to be recognised crept out from its cave. Verahdin didn’t want to be watched, she wanted to be touched, she wanted to be held. She wanted another’s voice to chase away the silence, to feel a stranger’s touch against her skin. 

And there were old habits that hadn’t died with Miahla, little misdeeds she would always be ashamed of later. Perhaps she was the hero that defied death, perhaps she was the key to everyone’s salvation, but that didn’t mean she was a good girl. 

Indeed, she was _the_ bad girl. 

_Miahla is the good one, Verahdin is the bad one. Miahla is the good one, Verahdin is the bad one. Miahla is the good one, Verahdin is the bad one…_

“That’s… a dangerous confession to make in the Fade.” She said, approaching him and laying her hand on his arm. He turned to her and looked into her eyes and she saw: Solas was bad too, was willing to be bad, at least. He knew he was doing something he shouldn’t. They were both playing against their own rules. 

“You change _everything_ ,” he said, defeated, and accusing. 

She didn’t say another word, enough talk. She wanted, she did — this was _her_ dream after all. She kissed him. 

And then quickly pulled away. There was tomorrow morning, there was always tomorrow morning, and she would face him and this could get complicated. This wasn’t her old life, she didn’t have the luxury to — 

He pulled her in and kissed her, hungrily, devouring. Her doubts were swept aside. She didn’t care about these things, she had never cared about these things. Miahla had been the only thing that mattered and now Miahla was gone and the loneliness seemed to take her place with a physical insistency. 

She pressed against him, they hardly needed to pause for breath. She could _feel_ how he wanted, how he craved for what she craved. They were both alone. Alone, alone, alone. It was enough loneliness to drown the world, enough to make a desert out of someone’s soul. She _needed_. Needed the loneliness to stop, needed to feel him, to touch him, to experience. 

He tried to pull away and for a moment she thought he would, but she touched him and his desire was greater than his will. It was dangerous to do this in the Fade, spirits were clamouring all about them, feeding off their raging emotions, but they also could not approach. There was a focus to what they were doing that could not be broken. 

She clawed at his clothes, at her own clothes, at those imagined barriers that separated their dreamer flesh. With a graceful elegance that never happened in reality they were both lying naked in the snow, touching and tasting. It was sensation, distilled, magnified. He inspected her body with his fingers and lips, she touched whatever she could, pleasing and demanding. He slowly eased inside her, they were united in their passion. His lips, soft and sweet as he whispered words in elven in her ear. There was no lack in elven for ways to speak of such occasions. 

It was not very different from previous lovers. Solas was an elf, attuned to what Sera would call his elfyness. But he treated her with a tenderness that rivalled Lasren’s. He was patient and attentive, focused completely on her. He smiled, satisfied, as she shook and shivered when her pleasure reached its peek, only then did he release his own. 

Even after they had finished, the act was far from complete. They held each other in silence and after a moment in which each reflected in their own thoughts, they resumed. This was the Fade, they were not burdened by the limitations of their physical bodies. As long as the dream lasted, they were united against the loneliness, chasing it away — for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I did it. So there are a few things I wanted to say about this chapter: I wasn't sure I would include this at all. In my first playthrough I romanced Solas and I still retain the opinion that it is the best romance depth-wise of the game. That being said, I don't believe it was without its flaws. Would Solas truly not have sex with the female Inquisitor he is so infatuated with? In Trespasser he excuses his not sleeping with her for the fact that he wouldn't lie with her under false pretences, as if they makes him a more considerate man. I call that bullshit. In truth, I think creating a deep emotional connection with someone and then abandoning them is far crueler act than simply having sex and then claiming it wasn't serious. I also don't think ancient elves would view sex in the way that people in Chantry-influenced Thades would. After a thousand years of being alone, he'd need this as much as he needs to bring back his people and if he recognised the Inquisitor as someone who isn’t an innocent virgin, then there would be nothing to stop him. Also, in the Fade they would end it with simply a kiss? I don't think so. This is how that scene should have played out, in my opinion. 
> 
> And there’s no way to gloss it over, my Lavellan has a twisted set of morals that will only get twister as the story develops. I’m sorry if some of you find this disappointing. She’s based on my second playthrough in which I honestly couldn’t decide who to romance and ended up making a total mess of things. Messes tend to make for interesting stories, at least and unlike the game, I’m not limited to following only one romance at a time.


	16. Take The Blame

Verahdin wondered if also Corypheus had moments in which he felt frightfully ashamed of something he had done. She assumed he didn’t, when you looked like a ten foot tall corpse that had had the Blight for breakfast, you really didn’t worry about small, whimsical emotions like shame.

While she knew she was certainly not a nice person, she was still a long distance from becoming evil. 

She just couldn’t quite categories what had happened last night. She didn’t have the emotional vocabulary for it. What was she supposed to think? What was she supposed to feel? _How_ was she supposed to face Solas? It felt as if she had just committed a heinous crime, like having sex with a clan elder. Although he couldn’t be older than forty, there was something about Solas that exceeded his age, that felt positively ancient. 

While dawn was still making the sky blush pink, she washed, dressed and headed down to the War room. She knew Cullen was awake — the poor man hadn’t been able to do anything but work since Haven — and would have some reports for her to sort out through. She didn’t expect to find all three of her advisors there, conversing in quiet tones and looking grim-faced. There was one slightly rolled note placed on the table before them. 

“Oh no, it’s Corypheus? This is too soon…” She crossed the room, her hands clutched into fists. She wasn’t ready yet, not for another Haven. She was still just recovering, she needed to win the next time she encountered him, and she knew that as she was now, she wouldn’t. 

But when she approached, before she could make out the words, the writing in the letter looked familiar. She could almost see the long-fingered, narrow hand forming graceful pen-strokes on the paper. “That’s my Keeper’s writing…” 

Even as she stepped up to the table with one long stride and snatched up the letter, she marvelled at the fact that she felt no relief to discover that it wasn’t the end of the world after all. She had no Gods, no Maker, no one who would listen to her pleas, but plead she did, to whomever or whatever — leave them be. Take anything, just let them continue to exist in their own simple and gentle way. 

Let her bring them no more suffering, let her actions not affect them. 

“It arrived twenty minutes ago,” Josephine said, “we were just debating which one of us should go wake you.” 

“I know you didn’t want them involved,” Leliana said, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” No, the fault, the shame, the guilt, it was hers, all hers. And her advisors would be able to see on her face what she thought and felt, she couldn’t hide this pain, it was salt on the open wound in her heart. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said. Ever since Haven he was looking ill and haggard, and he was distant in a way that made simple conversations intimidating. Once, in Haven, she had innocently thought they were close, now though… “My men can reach your clan in time, we can take out these bandits —“ 

“No, Cullen,” Verah shook her head, deep in thought, many of the Lavellan were suspicious of humans, there was still the chance that this kind of aid would not be perceived well by her clan. “I want to know what’s going on before the Inquisition openly shows its involvement.” 

“The Duke of Wycome is an Inquisition ally,” Josephine began, “perhaps we —“ 

“Why would he let such bandits operate near his city?” Verahdin asked, and her eyes finally fell on the spymaster. “Conveniently well armed and heavily armoured, and giving _my_ clan trouble…” 

“These seem to be too powerful to be mere bandits.” Leliana agreed. “I’ll have my people thin out their ranks while my agents uncover the truth.” 

“Good.” Her eyes moved to the pile of reports on the far side of the table. Leliana’s page had left with instructions on which agents would be sent and the arrangements that were to be made, and yet none of her advisors made any move to present before her the next matter that needed her attention. 

They stood, all three of them, staring at her. What was she supposed to do? Melt down in front of them? Of course, she was screaming on the inside, but that didn’t mean anything important. She angled her head, reading the report on the top of the pile, “Josie, how did the negotiations with the merchant princes of Antiva go?” 

“We can, maybe, take a break, Your Worship?” Josephine squeaked, she was looking at Verahdin oddly. 

“A break? But we just got started.” 

“You look… a little faint, my lady.” Leliana said. 

“So does Cullen. This is a difficult time for all of us. I’m as fine as I’ll ever be as long as Corypheus lives. Come, there are more pressing issues than —“ 

“Are you sure?” asked the spymaster. 

That was it. That was all it took for Verahdin to snap. “Do you _honestly_ think this is _new_ to me? This… this is what being Dalish is all about! We’re always being raped, enslaved and killed, it’s part of our day-to-day lives right after foregoing for food and herding halla. The quaint little savage, barbarian clan snuffs it out yet again. Humans really _are_ lacking in originality. But don’t worry yourselves, my pain only makes me sharper, particularly my ears.” 

Shit. She said it. Saying all those things didn’t seem to help though, it only made the screaming louder. Her three, _human_ , advisors stood gaping at her, and she felt it, like a physical presence. She had created a chasm around herself, one that they, for their humanity, will never be able to cross. Alone, she stood on a tiny island in the centre, like a statue on a pedestal, there, but distant, untouchable, unreachable. 

Again, she did it again. No matter, it was better this way. She was who she was, she couldn’t deny it or hide it “I guess you’re right, I could use a break.” she said and rushed out of the room. 

*** 

“But it _isn’t_ better this way. It makes everything that hurts, hurt more.” 

Verah was curled in the corner of the sofa in her suit with her head on her knees, alone. — Or so she had thought. Evidently she was wrong. “Hello, Cole.” she said, wearily. 

“It isn’t your fault they suffer, it was never your fault. You just decided that so you can find a simple way to be you. But you don’t need to take the blame that isn’t yours. Like that time when Shelana set fire to the aravel, you could have allowed it to be her, but you made it you, so that the others would be less frightened of how grey everything is. Shelana knew, but she wanted you to take away the blame so no one will know of her crime. But it didn’t help her in the end. You took her blame, but she still betrayed the clan and they found out.” 

She shouldn’t argue with a spirit, but that was the most astonishing thing about Cole. Spirits or demons didn’t have all those nuances in their voices when they talked to you, Cole was more of a person than many people she had met. “That isn’t the same as this, Cole.” 

“Halved and hallowed, but holding, hoarding. You’re afraid they’ll try to take away the pain, twist the truth so that it doesn’t point at you. She’s nothing but memory now, and there are too many ways to remember things. You’re worried to remember her wrong. If they touch you, they touch her, if they touch her she’ll melt away, like the ash in the valley that was taken apart by the wind.” 

“Cole, please, _please_ don’t. Don’t do this. Not this. Not to her.” Her face fell into her hands, she closed her fingers over clumps of her hair. “I won’t tell you not to be you, I know you want to help, but please leave it be. Leave me be. This pain is all I have. It’s precious to me. It _is_ me.” 

Cole said no more, and remained still for a moment, then he placed his hand on the back of her neck. She didn’t really know what she had expected, but aside from being soothingly warm, his hand was just a hand. It was the gesture that echoed, echoed deep and far, ringing true in some distant memory. Who, or when had it been that someone had comforted in such a way? 

It mattered not. Something in her chest seemed to pop, and then her hands were wet from her tears. There was no way to stop it, being far, away didn’t make them safe. The whole world was affected, the whole world would suffer if she allowed herself to falter and fail. 

She didn’t really know what Cole had done, she still felt horrible. But suddenly she found the power within her to rise back to her feet and return to the war council. 

*** 

Verahdin knew that her eyes were red from crying, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t already know how badly she had taken the news that her clan was being threatened and that most likely Corypheus was somehow behind it. 

She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry for behaving like that. I really shouldn’t have said those things.” 

“Actually,” Josephine smiled warmly, “that was a lot milder than I expected. I would have fared much worse if someone threatened my family in that way.” 

“If I were in your place there would have been a lot more shouting in addition to broken furniture.” Cullen said. 

“Not one of us can imagine the weight you must carry,” Leliana said, “but that doesn’t mean we aren’t willing to share your burden. We _do_ care about the person you are, Verahdin.” 

She looked away, blinking furiously and felt how the heat rose in her face. Scratching the bridge of her nose with her pinky, she managed compose herself. “Thank you,” she said. “This… means a lot to me.” 

And she didn’t know what more to say. She felt fluffy inside, like her stomach was filled with clouds. There _was_ an awkward moment of silence where everyone smiled at each other, but then Leliana rolled her eyes and it was business as usual again.


	17. In Which the Inquisitor Makes Stew

“You can’t continue hiding it.” said the Seeker.

“I’m not _hiding_ anything.” Cullen argued. 

Cassandra turned to him with that usual scowl she wore. “Yes you are, you have to tell her. She will find out eventually but it should come from you.” 

The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces sighed and looked into the flames of the hearth. Of course he was avoiding that confrontation, he was avoiding being alone in the same room with her. They had raised her to be the Inquisitor, she sat on that high chair, a beacon of hope to so many, a figure of fear to others. 

Everything else aside, she was alone. She had never asked for this. While some coveted power, others carried it like a burden. By that agonised look on her face whenever she had to make a difficult decision, or when her clan was threatened the other day, he was certain she fell among the latter. 

He had noticed how everything changed when she entered a room, Andraste’s chosen could not be killed, could not be put down, could never be ignored. She seemed to grow more beautiful in her misery. The harder it became, the gleam in her eyes — that gleam that had enticed him — became more prominent, her determination fixed and sharp. 

But, Andraste’s tears, she was so far away, he couldn’t reach her. Because he was falling behind, he was losing his grip. The lyrium withdrawal had dulled him, the pain was leaving him helpless. He could not sleep, he could barely eat. 

And in his weakest hours, his desire for her mounted to a dangerous degree. Those nights where sleep just wouldn’t come, and the long shadows held nightmares, he found solace only in fantasy, thinking of her in ways he was embarrassed to admit. He longed to touch her, to taste her skin and lips, to feel the warmth of her body and hear her sigh with pleasure as he united with her… 

He had never thought himself as one to have such a lucid imagination, but these were desperate times, and it was only thoughts of her, the woman he desired, that helped him through the toughest times. 

“I will tell her. You’re right.” 

“Talk to her tonight, we leave for the Storm Coast the day after tomorrow. It is better that she will know.” Cassandra said and then seemed to hesitate, “And Cullen?” 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t forget that she is now the Inquisitor.” 

As if that were possible. Cullen said nothing to this, Cassandra was someone who could accept glowering as a reply. He stalked out of the smithy with his mouth set in a grim line. 

*** 

There was a lump somewhere between his chest and his throat. He hadn’t realised how bitterly he felt about this. After he found her in the snow, he had promised himself to open his heart to her, to tell her how he felt, because if there was any chance for them, it would only happen if he stepped forward. 

But then reality had arrived to rain doom on his love, and he was forced back by the consequences of Haven. If only he had said something before, if only she had already been his, he could have stood by her side, he could have held her as she bore the fate of the world on her shoulders. 

He knocked on her door. 

“Yes?” said her voice from within. She was seated at her desk with a pen elegantly poised between her narrow fingers. There was a droplet of ink on her cheekbone and her hair was in disarray. He knew how she combed her fingers through it when she was deep in thought. She was not wearing one of those gowns that Josephine’s tailor had made for her, but a grey silk dress of a simple design that nevertheless was quite becoming. 

Before he realised what he was doing, he drank in the sight of her, memorising every detail for… later use. “I need to talk with you.” 

She tilted her head towards the sitting area, putting down her pen. “You need to talk to me as the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” she rose to her feet, the grey material of her dress hugged her waist in such a way that enhanced the curve of her hips. “Or as Cullen?” she looked straight at him when she said his name. Maker have mercy, her gaze stripped him bare, did she know how strongly he desired? 

“As both, I guess.” 

The slightest frown creased her forehead, but she moved on to the sitting area. Something about the way she walked had changed. He didn’t know whether it was the etiquette lessons she was receiving from Josephine as preparation for the ball at the Winter Palace, or simply a new habit that had formed from having to carry herself in public. Her movements were both more fluid and more feminine than ever before. 

She certainly gave Madame Vivienne a run for her money as she sat elegantly on the sofa, gesturing for Cullen to take the seat at her side. He could have chosen to sit on any of the armchairs or the other sofa, but that would have created too big a distance for comfortable conversation. So he sat next to her and angled his body to look at her. 

Verahdin, he noticed, looked as tired as he felt. He pressed the fingers of both his hands together as he gathered his thoughts and debated with himself how to begin, she watched him, waiting but patient. 

“Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer, some go mad, others die, the Inquisition has —“ 

“Cullen, I’m well aware of the uses and abuses of lyrium.” Verahdin cut him off, but her attention was now completely focused on him, as she often did when she heard something she didn’t expect. “What is this about?” 

“I no longer take it.” He blurted out. 

She stared at him, now fully alert. He saw it on her face, he saw it all. Alarm, worry, confusion, fear. “You… stopped?” 

“When I joined the Inquisition, it has been months now…” 

“Months?” she jumped to her feet, though her eyes never left his face. “Cullen, why didn’t you tell me? I should have known about this.” 

“It was my decision after what happened in Kirkwall. I will not be bound to the order or that life any longer. I’ve asked Cassandra to… watch me, if my ability to lead is compromised —“ 

“How are you feeling?” She went down on her knees right in front of him, her face mere inches from his as she examined him, her eyes dancing. There was a soft crease between her eyebrows. “Are you in pain?” 

“I can endure it.” 

“Can you describe the pain? Is it constant? Does it come in spasms? Where does it hurt? Have you been experiencing cold sweat? Shivering? How is your appetite? Can you show me your palms?” 

Cullen was taken aback, he had never seen Verahdin behave this way. 

She saw the questioning look he gave her and sat back onto her heels. “You know the Dalish have little use for a battlemage. My Keeper taught me to heal with magic, using magic to kill only came with necessity. But there’s no magic that can help you. Still,” she reached out and took his hand in both of hers. His heart sped. Her hands were calloused, but otherwise cool against his skin and smaller than they actually looked. She leaned in to examine his palm. “I’ll leave instructions for some potions that will help deal with some of the symptoms. Do you have any sensitivities to herbs?” 

It was a logical question, one that any healer would ask. But she was right there, so close, he could pull her in and just see what would happen next. 

Maker, he wanted to. 

His silence had been too long, she looked up, her face filled with concern and worry. She worried for him, and not because he was the Commander of her forces, but because there was something more. 

“Cullen,” she misinterpreted his silence. Did she think her inquisitiveness had offended him? “ I respect your decision. You have my support in this. I believe… I believe you can do it. But it… hurts my heart to see you —” 

He reached out with his hand, the one that wasn’t currently clutched in both of hers and touched her face. She was surprised into silence, her eyes wide, her soft, strawberry coloured lips slightly parted. She knew he would kiss her, it seemed. That passionate tenderness in his heart was stronger than ever, he had never felt this way before. 

_Don’t forget that she is now the Inquisitor._

He withdrew his hand. “You… had some ink there.” he mumbled. But she had been waiting for him to kiss her and knew he had changed his mind. Her expression was suddenly closed, she let go of his hand and rose to her feet. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. 

“Thank you for coming to tell me.” She said. He was being dismissed. 

“Verahdin, I —“ 

A knock on the door. “Inquisitor?” It was Josephine. She had some urgent matter with one of the visiting nobles that needed Verahdin’s attention. The moment had been lost once more. Inwardly berating himself for his foolishness, Cullen excused himself. 

Another thing to regret. 

*** 

“See to it that Simwick’s division is properly stocked, and none of that old bed linen for armour padding.” 

“I was told that was some sort of prank,” said the lieutenant who had been on the sharp end of one of the Commander’s moods for the past ten minutes. 

“I don’t care what it —“ A knock on the already open door cut Cullen short. A middle-aged elven woman with a round face stood in the doorway bearing a tray. 

“Sorry to disturb, my lord.” she said in a heavy Fereldan accent, blushing crimson as she crossed the room. She somehow found a place on his desk not littered with reports to put down her tray. 

“What’s this?” 

“The Inquisitor sent me. I’m Mernia, the Head Cook, my lord. Her Worship says you haven’t been eating properly.” Mernia looked close to bursting with excitement. 

“Thank you, but you hardly need to —“ 

“Came down to the kitchens herself, she did, Her Worship. She really does glow like people says, though she is a _real_ woman too, if you get my meaning, my lord.” 

“I’ll get to it,” the lieutenant said, recognising an easy escape. Cullen was left alone with the cook. 

“I appreciate —“ 

“Worried herself into a frenzy over you, she did. Rolled up her sleeves and made that stew then and there herself. Just like that. And it be a special recipe that only them Dalish know. She was mighty pleased with the result, said she had never had all the ingredients to work with at the same time while living with the Dalish, And it smells like a sweet dream too, had all the kitchen hands sniffing the air as if they were learning to breathe.” 

Now the cook had Cullen’s full attention. He looked at the tray, it bore only a covered earthenware bowl, a spoon and a roll of bread. “You’re saying the _Inquisitor_ made this stew?” 

“Aye, my lord, and wouldn’t accept our offer of help either. She be a properly real woman, as I said. Left me with instructions on how to make it and that I’m to see that you eat it, my lord. Never used so many herbs in no stew before, mind you. Seems potion-like to me, but them Dalish were always a queer lot.” 

Cullen suddenly found himself smiling warmly at the bowl, with the Cook by his side bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Thank you, Mernia. I promise to eat it.” 

Mernia made no sign she was leaving. “She fancies you, my lord. I know a thing or two about a woman’s heart. If you ask me, she put aside her important business of saving the world to make her man a meal. And then she had that pretty look on her face, the one lasses in love get, when she thinks of you.” 

“The Inquisitor and I are nothing more than friends and colleagues, I can assure you.” 

Mernia laughed. “So you says, my lord. So it be, for now.” The Cook curtsied and began to leave, stopping at the door. “We all hope Her Worship ends her dalliance with that magister from Tevinter and turns towards truer love, my lord.” she said before giving him a firm nod and walking away. 

And that was gossip for you, Dorian wasn’t even a Magister and Verahdin wasn’t manly enough for him anyway, but the Cook didn’t care. Nor did she seem to care how it would look if the Inquisitor took the Commander of her forces as a lover. Maybe they had the right idea about things, maybe it was only he who agonised over what should have been as simple and clear as day and night. 

With that thought he turned to the strew, removing the lid from the bowl. The aroma _was_ like a sweet dream, he didn’t know what about it struck him, it was both spicy and sweet and… reminded him of home. The stew itself had a slightly greenish colour — probably due to all the herbs it obviously contained. 

He was about to reach for the spoon when he noticed the note. 

It was pinned beneath the bowl, he unrolled it revealing her neat, closely-knit writing. 

_My mother made me a stew like this whenever I was sick or sad. It never failed to make me feel better. I think this is the first time I managed to make it just right. If you don’t eat every last bite, the Dread Wolf will come and take you. Also, I’ll know._

_All the best,_

_Your Inquisitor_

Cullen laughed and lifted the spoon.


	18. Dreams End

To say it wasn’t a relief to finally leave Skyhold was an understatement. In the span of a couple of months, the place had grown to the scale of a small kingdom. Verahdin was the centrepiece, always under constant scrutiny and observation. Even admiration was a type positive judgment. It was nice to be travelling again among her friends. While managing them had also become like a game of chess, that was nothing compared to the bigger board of Skyhold,

They were to head to the Storm Coast to investigate old grey warden camps, close rifts and deal with some darkspawn on the way while scout Harding established a forward camp in Crestwood. The reports so far stated that it would not be a simple matter to meet the Warden Stroud at the old smuggler cave he was hiding in. The area would have to be stabilised first. 

Which was expected. That was how one established order. While chaos had a tendency to erupt everywhere at once, if you wanted to clean up a mess, you had to do it one piece at a time. 

And she had to deal with the messes _she_ had created. More specifically, a conversation she had been putting off for days. In Skyhold there had always been something to prevent her from finding enough peace and quiet to slip away and talk with Solas about what had happened, now on the road there was nothing _but_ long, dragged out hours of silence. 

That is to say, it had seemed like a sound plan, but no one was nosier than your own friends. She tried to get some quiet conversation time with him while riding on the first day, but then Sera had been so insistent on telling her a story of how she rallied up a few of the stablehands to plant horse dung in the shoes of Lady Derephene and all her entourage for an insult they had made to one of the servants. Then during their second day, on the midday break, she had asked Solas to help her collect herbs when Blackwall volunteered to come as well. 

“Elfroot.” Blackwall said, “Do elves just call it “root”?” 

Verahdin chortled, well of course there wasn’t anything wrong with taking Blackwall anywhere. “No, we have another name for it.” Solas said. 

“Well, that’s no fun.” 

“But _you_ are.” Verahdin chimed with laughter. 

“Both of you spend far too much time with Sera.” Solas sighed. 

By nighttime on the third day, while they were setting up camp Verah began to worry that perhaps she had put the conversation off for too long and had somehow jinxed it. Her attempts to be alone with the elven apostate didn’t go unnoticed either. “Is it my imagination, dear,” Vivienne said after they had finished eating dinner, “Or have certain… lingering looks passed between you and our Solas?” 

“It’s probably your imagination.” Verah said, making the Enchanter sneer slightly. “But good of you to mention it, I do have to discuss some…er, elven artefacts, with our Solas.” 

“Ah yes, elven artefacts.” Solas said with a chuckle. Must he make it sound so ludicrous? 

Sera snorted, “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Shite, I really have to get out there.” 

“Calling what?” Cassandra asked, confused. 

Verah rolled her eyes, “I’m glad to see everyone packed an ample amount of sense of humour.” 

“Wait. Did someone make a joke?” Oh Cassandra, bless her. Verah cleared her throat, she didn’t want to resort to this, but it would seem that Solas was as determined to avoid talking to her as she had been with talking to him. 

Good. 

“We need to speak alone,” she said to Solas in elven. “Come meet me in my tent later tonight?” 

“Boo, not fair.” Sera bristled, “Stop making weird noises and talk like normal people.” 

“How do normal people talk?” Cole wondered. 

“Eww, it spoke at me.” Sera said. 

Verah couldn’t blame the others for how they treated Cole. She had had enough experience with spirits and demons to understand. But she _did_ feel differently. The existence of someone like Cole opened up so many possibilities about the world. That, and she finally understood what Solas had meant about spirits being his friends. The difference between a spirit and a person weren’t so big after all. 

*** 

The flap of her tent was pushed aside and Solas slipped in. Verahdin half expected he wouldn’t show but had left her lantern burning. He looked at her with a guarded expression They should have spoken right after it happened, taking so much time with it had made it more difficult. 

“Hello.” she said lamely, rubbing the back of her head as she searched for what to say. “This is long overdue…” 

“Has there been any word from your clan?” he asked softly. Of course, Solas would start with that, giving her an excuse for why she hadn’t found the time to speak with him sooner. Verah shook her head. 

This wasn’t going to work, she had to sit down. She sat down on her opened bedroll. “Solas —“ she began. 

“Verahdin, I owe you an apology. I lost myself that night. I had never intended for things to go as far as they did.” 

She angled her head up to look at him, “You act as if I left you much of a choice. I know how to seduce a man, Solas. I should be the one apologising. But I think we’re both past that point.” 

He chuckled and sat down at her side. She wondered then what it would be like to sleep with him in reality. The worst part about intercourse in the Fade was that the next morning she had woken up more sexually frustrated than she had been before it happened. As far as her body was concerned, it had found no release. 

But that wouldn’t do. It would only serve to complicate matters farther. “I think now is when we decide what we’re going to do next.” 

“I’m not certain pursuing this farther is the best idea,” he said, as if they were debating a magical method of some kind. “It could lead to trouble.” 

“Trouble for you or for me?” 

“Both.” he answered grimly. 

She dropped her chin into the palm of her hand. “This isn’t how this conversation should go.” 

“I’m not usually thrown off by things that happen in dreams.” Solas was looking, for once, a little nervous. “I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it greatly. I also enjoy your company and the person you are.” 

She sighed, “Solas, I’m not a nice person, at least not when it comes to my relationships with men. But I’ve never been alone, not in this way.” She couldn’t look at him because admitting the truth touched too close to that large, endless pain in her chest. “I’ve always gone about it the wrong way, I don’t know if I know how to love. I care about you, _deeply_ , but…” She allowed her voice to trail away, not knowing how to complete that thought. 

“Perhaps we both need time to consider?” 

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can wait. I can’t… bear it. This loneliness. It’s pathetic, I know. But the truth will always be ugly. Some people are accustomed to it, most people are. But I was different. I lost…” She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t say it. 

She rose to her feet, drawing deep breaths, trying to curb the thunderous ache. Even now, after all these months, it was hard not to panic when she remembered. “I intend to take a lover. It isn’t odd for a woman like me. And is it so wrong to want to _stop_ being alone?” She turned to him, sad, and wistful. “Will _you_ be my lover, Solas?” 

And his sadness echoed her own when he shook his head. “I would have, gladly. But it is… kinder this way.” She felt… relieved? As if he had just saved her from herself. 

She sat back down, and tried to smile. “I don’t regret it. It was… A good dream. A very good dream.” 

“Yes, it was.” 

*** 

Thom had no right to be heartbroken, as he had no right to want to be the one in her tent right now — but that was that. He still wanted what he didn’t deserve, now at least he couldn’t have it. 

“So… Roses and Chuckles,” Varric said. “You know, I really don’t know what to say about that.” 

Sera made a rude noise. “ _Boring_. The elf always goes with the elf. Disappointing innit? Bet he calls out ‘Elven glory’ when they do it.” 

“I’m just not too clear on _when_ this all happened.” Dorian said. He looked rather put off by the fact that he hadn’t been told beforehand. “It’s impossible to sneak in or out of her suit unnoticed. _Someone_ should have seen something, and yet there wasn’t even the slightest rumour.” 

“It happened in a dream.” Cole said dreamily. “They were both _very_ excited.” 

“What I want to know is who won the bet.” Iron Bull growled. Thom knew there had been wagers going around on who would become Verahdin’s lover, but he had not been allowed to participate. There was silence, it seemed that no one had considered this particular pairing. 

“Ahem.” said Vivienne. “I believe that would be me, my dear.”


	19. Silent Conversation

The air popped with heat as Verahdin lit the ground beneath the creature’s feet aflame. Her spell exploded with a roar, a ball of fire rising to engulf her enemy. The heat tickled her face, but she did not pull back nor flinch. But then there was another one right behind it, she hadn’t seen it coming and could do nothing but flail more fire at it which she created on the spot. Still, she didn’t retreat.

Vivienne was first at her side, unsheathing a sword made out of golden magical light, she cleanly sliced the ghoul in half. Sprouting jets of black ichor, its body fell to the smouldering ground. 

“Thank you.” Verahdin said. 

“You’re quite welcome, darling.” Vivienne, for all her faults, was a skilled mage. It was sometimes hard to remember that she wasn’t only a power-glutton who would lie and manipulate to achieve her own ends. Though, seeing how she fought, it was hard not to feel impressed, especially since she somehow came out of every battle looking like she was ready to attend a ball. 

“My dear, you fight at a rather close range.” 

“I can make more fire closer to me. Throwing it far lessens its heat.” 

“How… interesting, darling.” Vivienne said, and what she actually meant was that there was probably a better way to go about it but since Verahdin lacked the formal education that Vivienne extolled she would forever be in the wrong. 

But an excessive amount of pride, at least, was not one of Verahdin’s faults. She _wanted_ to learn, and she did learn a great deal from observing the former Imperial Enchanter. “Madame Vivienne, that… magical sword you use,” Verah started. 

Vivienne’s face lit up, it was remarkably easy to fall into her good graces. All one had to do was speak the correct code. “It is the sword of a Knight Enchanter, my dear.” 

“Do you think I can learn to be a Knight Enchanter?” 

Vivienne practically beamed. “What an _interesting_ idea, my dear. I believe that will be a most suitable path for someone as recognised as yourself. It is a noble calling, the Knight Enchanter. Only the most select mages practice it and few possess the necessary discipline.” 

“Will _you_ teach me, then?” 

“Of course I will, darling. We can’t have our Inquisitor learning from just anyone.” 

*** 

They set the bodies of the dead Inquisition soldiers side by side. They had nothing to cover them with. These men and women had been _her_ men and women, they had pledged themselves to the Inquisition, they had given their lives for it, and those lives had been wasted. Of course, in war, people died all the time, and they wouldn’t be the first or the last to die needlessly. Even knowing that they had been aware of the risk was no comfort when confronted with their deaths. 

Cassandra placed a hand on Verahdin’s shoulder. “We will inform their families.” 

“These Blades of Hassarian will pay for what they did.” A part of Verahdin, the one that still remembered what she had been like before she was the Inquisitor, was startled by the growl in her voice. She was angry. She was not only going to spill blood again but _required_ it. To kill people just to issue a challenge — well, if this band desired death, she would not be merciful. She turned to look at the bodies of the bandits they had killed. 

And paused. One of them was a young man, and barely that. In death, he wore a horrified expression, as if he had seen a demon. She had seen that look on the faces of people she killed before. It was when they realised that ordinary swords and armour could not withstand the inferno of a mage’s fire, nor could their speed and agility match a mage’s ability to simply step through the Fade at a blink of an eye. 

“He ran away from home with his sister because his father hurt her.” Cole said, seeing her gaze. “The baker’s wife helped them escape. But they came here by accident and there was no one more to help them escape. He was _very_ afraid when he attacked and now he’s silent.” 

“Thank you, Cole.” That was why it was important to keep him around. He was a useful ally, and whatever else he was, he helped her not become a monster. She let the pain of this wasted life — the one _she_ had taken, linger in her heart as she created ice roses for the dead. Then she turned to her companions. “Let’s make a challenge, shall we?” 

*** 

Lynette clutched handfuls of her skirt, biting down on her lip and forcing herself not to cry. Yvonne stood over her, glowering. “Get to work, you lazy wench. I’m sick of the sight of you.” 

She raised her chin in defiance, Dale should be back soon, he _would_ be back soon. And besides, there was no food today to cook anyway. Fredric, the leader, had taken everything the others had hunted today for himself. As always, she said nothing, but her glare was enough. There was no work to be done, but Yvonne would slap her anyway, because Yvonne needed someone to hit. They were all trapped here with Fredric, and out there, the dread Inquisitor would have their blood for her magic. 

Fredric said that the Inquisitor was a knife-ear savage and a mage who required a constant stream of blood to fuel her power. She ensnared hundreds under her spell, controlling their thoughts and their hearts with dangerous enchantments. They said she used bound demons as her henchmen, summoned with lifeblood from the darkest reaches of the Fade to do her bidding. She would stop at nothing before all of Thades belonged once more to her people and would restore the days of their former glory. 

Father had always hated knife-ears, but he hated them more when he returned home one day, drunk and bloody with a missing eye. He hated them with a passion afterwards, especially their women who, he claimed, were all whores. Dale had told her that Father had tried to get his way with a knife-eared wench and she had had the right idea about people like Father. It was a shame she hadn’t cut lower before Father cut her down, Dale said. 

Lynette had thought that girls ought to love their fathers, but she couldn’t help but agree with Dale. Although those knife-ears were an eyesore, anyone was better than Father. 

But the Inquisitor might be worse than anyone. If she had the ability to plant thoughts in your head and love in your heart, how did you even know you were you? It scared her. It scared her more than Fredric scared her, even more than the Maker scared her. And Dale was out there, Fredric had made Dale go, which meant he would die or was already dead. 

And now there was nothing left in the world but fear. Yvonne delivered a lap across her face. She was knocked off balance and fell like a rag doll to the ground with her ears ringing. “Just lie there, you filthy little maggot. You’re dead weight. Your brother’s gone, there’s none who will care for you now.” 

“She’s here!” Someone cried, Lynette felt her blood run cold. “The Inquisitor is here!” 

She scrambled to her feet, Yvonne had lost interest in tormenting her, a quiet fell upon the fort. Briefly, Lynette wondered if she should run. Fredric would not be able to defeat a mage that had become as mighty as a God, he had asked for his death, just like Father did when he pushed Dale too far. But there were bears and wolves out there, there were those monsters — the darkspawn — there was nothing but danger, crowding all around. 

Lynette climbed atop the squat roof of the shack they called the kitchen. From here she could see everything that happened in the fort without drawing attention to herself. She had expected an army in gleaming armour and orderly formation, and the Inquisitor, a dark figure marching at their front. But the group that entered the fort was odd, every single one of them different, but no less frightening. 

There was a dwarf among them, and then a monstrously giant man with greyish skin and horns — Lynette assumed that he was a demon — the rest just looked like humans, although with their helmets on they could have all been knife-ears. But there were other mages among them, she could see their staves, and that was even more frightening. They could easily kill them all. 

And she was certain now, Dale was dead. 

It was not hard to guess who the Inquisitor was. Lynette had expected her to be taller, but aside from that, she was every bit as frightening as she had imagined. She radiated power and command, from up here Lynette could clearly see her glowing demon-hand. Everyone fell away, clearing her path, all eyes were upon her, mesmerised. 

She was not ugly, though. She didn’t _look_ like she thirsted for blood. They said that her beauty was part of her enchantment, that she wore a glamour that lured people in. No one would believe or even like anyone disfigured, Lynette knew _that_ from firsthand experience. 

It did affect people, the mood int he fort changed. Everyone fell away, until only Fredric and his dogs stood before the Inquisitor. For all his height and might, Fredrick looked weak compared to her. He looked frightened and cornered. Lynette relished the sight of it, she drank it up, she longed to see him bleed. 

For a moment she wished she _was_ the Inquisitor, she wished she had the power to smite this man who sent out her brother to be slaughtered. 

“There’s been enough violence, stand down,” said the Inquisitor, her voice was low and soft, but rang clear. 

_No_. Lynette clutched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palm. Fredric had to die, _he deserved to die._

But then she saw it, a man like Fredric was too dumb to take the offered mercy. He sized the Inquisitor up, she wasn’t big or tall, she was just a young woman with golden hair and soft-looking skin. His pride and arrogance would be his death. “I _earned_ my place here. Do you think I’ll step aside for _you_ , knife-ear?” 

He attacked straight away, unsheathing his blade and bringing it in a large arc towards the Inquisitor’s neck before the elf could react. It was over, Lynette thought with cold shock, over before it began. 

But the blade met only air. The Inquisitor was standing some distance away, wreathed in mists. It had happened too fast to make sense of, and the air all around them grew chillier and heavier. Lynette shivered with fear and… anticipation. 

The Inquisitor raised her staff in one hand, a look of grim concentration on her face. There was a gentle sizzle, like the sound of frying, and then the elf gestured upward with her arm and flames erupted all about Fredric, making his armour glow red. 

But he was still standing, charging forward through the flames with an enraged scream. The Inquisitor didn’t flinch or retreat, Fredric was a slicing metal avalanche, yet she stood there, her lips moving, perhaps in silent prayer. 

And then, all at once, she went into action, bringing her staff over her head, she spun it with both hands and suddenly Fredric was frozen in ice, unable to move. Her movements fluid, the Inquisitor brought her staff down, hitting the ground with loud _thud_. 

A circle of embers appeared on the ground beneath the frozen man. From up here, Lynette could see a pointed flower or a star inside the circle. It was strangely beautiful. 

And then Fredric exploded. She saw how the force of the heat of the flames threw his body into several directions at once, and the pieces that had been the Leader of the Blade of Hassarian fell back with several clutters onto the scorched earth. 

No one could move or look away from the smouldering remains of Fredric. So many had tried to stop him, to stand up to him, and now he had been utterly destroyed. 

Did Dale die like that, or was his death even faster? Was he also nothing but a blackened corpse now? 

“He died quickly, but he thought of you the whole time.” said a soft voice by her side. There was a boy standing next to her, he wore a broad hat that hid his eyes and ragged clothes. He was strange and had appeared out of nowhere, but for some reason Lynette wasn’t frightened. It was rare to meet someone that didn’t frighten her. “He wanted you to be safe. We can help.” 

Who was he? And how did he know what her brother had wanted? Did he know Dale? Were they friends? Dale had said he had a friend who would come for them soon, and this boy also looked a little bit like her brother, they had the same collarbones and were about the same age. His spoke in a gentle way too, he wasn’t here to harm her. 

“I’m Cole. I’m here to help.” he said it as if he could hear her thoughts. She wondered how he would help her, Fredric was gone, but the Inquisitor was still here. She looked at the knife-ear as she talked to Ivor and the other men. “The Inquisitor is different, she isn’t like the others. She’s sad and sorry, but she doesn’t want to hurt you. She wants to help too.” 

Lynette eyed Cole suspiciously now, because it almost felt like a conversation. She hadn’t had a conversation in months, even Dale would just talk _at_ her and try to understand as best he could what she thought from her expressions. “Yes, we’re having a conversation.” Cole agreed, he lifted his chin slightly and she suddenly saw his eyes amidst his long yellow bangs. His eyes were gentle, like his voice. But it was strange, and slightly disturbing, she was sure no person should be able to know what she was thinking. 

“I can make you forget me,” Cole suggested, “if that will make you less frightened.” 

She took a step back, no, she didn’t want to forget things that weren’t bad. There were too many terrible things she remembered too well. “I can’t make you forget that,” he said sadly, “that would be taking too much. You won’t be you anymore.” 

She didn’t quite understand, but her attention was turned momentarily from Cole when she noticed that the Inquisitor was looking straight at her. “That girl over there is no fighter.” she heard the elf tell Ivor. 

“That’s Lynette, Your Worship,” Ivor said nervously. “Arrived here with her brother some months ago. He was a decent Sword, that boy, but his sister is a bit odd. She… can’t talk.” 

“Can’t talk?” 

“We don’t know the story, Worship, only that she ain’t got a tongue anymore.” 

“’T’was burnt off or something. Asked Dale about it once, nearly killed me for just askin’” said Harold 

Lynette hated it when people talked about her as if she couldn’t hear. She turned to look at Cole — but he was gone. He was very strange, but she felt sorry he had gone away. 

“She doesn’t like it when people talk about her, especially when she can hear them.” Cole said from next to the Inquisitor. How did he get there? 

Lynette’s heart sped as the Inquisitor walked towards her. For a knife-ear, she was _very_ pretty. She was so pretty, that Lynette was glued to the spot and couldn’t look away. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. Was this magic? 

“Lynette,” the Inquisitor said her name. Her voice was soft, gentle and it trembled ever slightly as if she were sad. But she was still frightening, and her attention was overwhelming — her attention was _too much_ attention. It felt as if the sky itself had opened its eyes and was looking _straight at her_. “I’m sorry about your brother. He shouldn’t have died.” 

Yes, she had known that Dale was dead. She had known it. But now she was faced with it. Her brother was dead and most likely, the Inquisitor had killed him. Now her legs _did_ obey her as she jumped down from the low roof, tears flooding her eyes. She ran, as fast as she could, ignoring the sound of her name as the Inquisitor called after her. 

Let the dreaded Inquisitor smite her down, she didn’t care. She had to run, she had to get away. There was a crack in the wall surrounding the fort large enough for a child to squeeze through, and while Lynette was no longer a child, they had starved here for months. She earned herself a long, ugly cut along her arm and tore her already torn dress — but she was out, and running. 


	20. Lynette Makes Friends

The waif girl was thin to the point of being almost skeletal, she had round light brown eyes that seemed golden-amber and stood out huge in her gaunt face. Her tangled, curly mousy brown hair had been cut unevenly to be above shoulder — probably by using a blade — and formed a messy mane giving her the appearance of an upturned mop. She wore a dress that was several sizes too large for her thin frame, but fell down to well above her ankles. She was tall and perhaps would have been quite an impressive young woman under different circumstances.

Then there was the scar, across her bottom lip, down the corner of her mouth and along her jawline. Her flesh had been severely burnt. The story of her abuse eternalised on her face. 

But Verah had said the wrong thing, and unlike Cole, she couldn’t try over again. The girl bolted like a frightened cat, swift and light and she was gone. 

“See, that’s why you sparkle.” Sera said. 

“What?” 

“Well, he was a boy that was following orders. They’re all boys and girls who are following orders, you can’t worry about them all. But some, yeah? That’s good on you, for caring. It makes it worth something.” 

Verah sighed. “No it doesn’t. I just have to find a way to be able to live with myself later. But death is just death, it’s nothing. There’s no glory in it, it’s worth no price. No matter how a person dies, the result is always the same.” 

“Just saying, with people like you on the top who _hate_ punching down, there’s still some hope in the world that things will get good and normal and everyone will be able to go on with their lives. It makes following you around feel like a good thing, even when you’re getting pretty big. I mean big like important, not fat.” 

“Sera, be careful, that will go to my head.” 

Sera laughed and ended it with that trademark snort of hers. Blackwall pulled his horse up to join the two elves. “I believe there’s an old grey warden camp nearby, we could find something useful.” 

It was a blessing, really, because Verahdin needed to get away. “Sera, you and the others go ahead to the forward camp, see if there’s any news waiting for us about Crestwood. Blackwall and I will look around. We’ll probably be back by tomorrow morning.” 

*** 

Lynette shivered in the darkness. It was too dangerous to start a fire and the wood was too damp anyway. Her feet were cut and bruised through the worn soles of her boots and she had nothing but her coarse wool dress to stave off the cold. The damp sea air chilled her to her bones, which was no surprise considering they were so close to her skin. 

She had no food, no cloak. Night was slowly falling and she told herself that this was what she had chosen. Her irrational flight had been her decision. Even now, even after all this, she was still frightened. She was so stupid and weak and worthless. She had run instead of facing the truth and she was even too scared to live with the consequences of her own actions. 

Curled among the shrubs, she wept. Crying was what she did when she didn’t know what to do anymore. Poor Dale, he had done everything he could to keep her alive and safe, and he failed and failed and failed until he died and now she would too. It was all so pointless. 

“You’re mortal, so you’ll die eventually, but you shouldn’t die today. They hurt you, but you’re still not old, hurts can heal.” 

Cole! It was Cole! He was right there, sitting next to her in the darkness as if he materialised out of thin air. He draped something heavy, soft and warm over her shoulders and she brought up her hand to feel the edges of a cloak. 

“I’ve come to find you. You shouldn’t be out here alone, you could die.” 

She wiped away her tears with the heels of her palms. Was he going to take her back to the Inquisitor? She was worried about that. She hadn’t run because she was afraid of the Inquisitor exactly, but she wasn’t sure what she thought about anything anymore. Did he work for her? He must be a mage of some kind, how else could a person know what she was thinking? 

“No.” Cole seemed to answer all the questions fluttering through her head with one word. 

“Did you find her, Kid?” said a deep and slightly grumbling voice. Someone was heavily treading through the foliage. 

“Yes, Varric. She’s cold and hungry. We could make her food with a fire! We should.” 

“Alright, I’ll take care of the fire and dinner. You… just do your thing, Kid.” 

Cole turned to her, touching her arm in exactly the same way Dale did when he needed her to trust in him. “Varric is kind, he makes stories that become real when people read them. He likes to help and he won’t hurt you either.” Cole seemed very happy about Varric, as if he was more of a good idea than an actual person. 

A little distance away, in the clearing, there was a spark, and then a small flame appeared. It struggled against the dampness of the wood and seemed to be losing the battle. There was a stocky figure crouched by it. It picked up a small box and seemed to throw some powder over the fire. 

The flames roared to life, catching the wood despite the dampness. Lynette could also see the figure now was not even human, but the dwarf that had been accompanying the Inquisitor. He was lying damp fags by the fire to dry them. 

_The flames in the hearth cackled innocently. She hadn’t noticed the metal poker that had been pushed among them. No. She had cried. Please. She had cried. She hadn’t said anything, she hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t know how the Chantry mother knew. Father had grabbed her by the hair. She hadn’t talked. She never talked. Father’s threats were always promises. She hadn’t talked. Please! No!_

Cole gently took her hand and held it. She looked up to meet his eyes from under the brim of his broad hat. His were sad eyes, but also warm and… he understood. He knew, and he understood. “This fire isn’t that fire,” he reassured her, “it’s a _friendly_ fire. It will keep you warm and make you food. You could come closer to it.” 

He noticed that she wasn’t assured. “If it tries to burn you, I’ill kill it. But fires aren’t alive enough to be killed. They just are and then they aren’t. Unless it’s a very big fire, then the Fade remembers and spirits crowd around it through the Veil. Wait, that was the wrong thing to say. Forget.” 

He noticed that she wasn’t assured. “If it tries to burn you, I’ll turn it off.” 

Lynette nodded and gingerly rose to her feet. Cole still held her hand as he guided her nearer to where Varric was filling a pot with water from a flask. The dwarf rose to his feet when she approached, she had never _seen_ one up close before. He was as small as a child, but as stocky and robust as a grown man — which Lynette assumed he was. “Varric Tethras, at your service.” 

She had read a book once by someone of that name, it had been a nice mysterious adventure and had taken her to places beyond herself. Dale had given her that book, and she had read it, bit by bit, in her secret hiding place in the hallowed out trunk of the old willow. That was back before things turned dark, in the old house, the one that had burned down with mum and aunt Helena in it. 

“She knows you!” Cole exclaimed, “She read your book, the one with guard Donnen Brennokovic in it. She thought Kirkwall was nice.” 

“You read Hard in Hightown? Where are you from? You must have been in some terrible places if you think Kirkwall is nice.” Varric said, unfazed by the fact that Cole just revealed he could read her thoughts. Lynette blinked at the dwarf, watching him as he pulled out a small knife and began skinning a Fennec. She was used to being hungry, but she wasn’t used to people preparing her food. But it wasn’t just people, if she understood correctly, this dwarf and the author of that book were one of the same. 

That made for two in one. Lynette had never met a dwarf _or_ an author before. She didn’t expect an author to be someone with such dirty fingernails who wandered in places like the Storm Coast. She had pictured that a person who wrote books would be pale-faced and wear long robes — like a mage in a tower except without the magic or the tower. 

“I guess you can’t really answer that,” Varric said, though not unkindly. 

“She hasn’t had a conversation in a long time,” Cole said sounding angry. Angry _for_ her, not _at_ her. It was the first time in forever that anyone besides Dale spoke that way. “People just talk at her or about her and she doesn’t like it but she can’t tell them to stop.” 

“We’ll have to do something about that, then.” Varric said thoughtfully as he threw the now skinned and cleaned Fennec into the stew. He looked around and then picked up a stray twig that hadn’t made its way into the fire, handing it to her. “So you know how to read, I take it you know how to write too.” He gestured towards a patch of soft earth that was illuminated by firelight. “Where are you from?” 

Lynette hesitated, then took the offered stick from the dwarf and wrote in big letters into the wet earth. 

DENERIM 

“You were in Denerim during the blight? How old were you then? Four? Five?” 

Lynette shook her head and smeared out the letters on the ground with her boot. It was a roundabout way to ask her for her age. 

I AM 18 

Varric sighed, shaking his head. He added some dry leaves from a pouch at his waist into the stew and then covered the pot and set it to cook on the fire. Lynette took the time to erase the previous message and write a new one. 

I LIVED IN AMARANTHINE DURING BLIGHT 

“We’re a long way from either, Cat.” Did Varric just call her Cat? She didn’t know if that really suited her, cats were regal, elegant and ferocious, but soft too. That description didn’t match her at all. “Where were you headed, then? Maybe we can help you get there. I assume this wasn’t your destination.” 

The answer to that was far too much to write. Lynette sighed and put the stick down. If only she understood how this works, how Cole knew to answer her thoughts as if she spoke them aloud. She looked towards him, but he was gone again. He was never where he was last. He was over there, in the shadows tapping the trunk of a tree with his knuckles and leaning in to listen to something. Maybe he could hear other things that couldn’t talk. 

“She wants to tell you her story, Varric.” Cole said, “Not all of it, not the very painful parts. She think she can trust you but the ground is too small for long words.” 

“Shit, this is going to be weird, isn’t it, Kid? Who will I be listening to? You, or her?” 

“Yes.” Cole said and began pacing, “There was too much pain in Denerim, and too much fear. Father had too many friends who wouldn’t believe. They were going to be blamed for the murder of Mother Katherine as well, they had to flee. There was little time, no hope. Chocking on fire, ill, confused. The fever burns, unable to think through the pain. Remember uncle Raleigh? Mummy’s brother. Where is he now? He was kind, he would help. They were headed to Kirkwall, running, fleeing, scared. Dale used his sword to kill. No one noticed as they slipped, sliding, gliding through the nights. But then Fredric found them. He promised he would help them reach Kirkwall, his promises were lies.” 

“So, let me get this straight,” Varric said. Lynette thought that was a very legitimate reaction. She wasn’t sure _she_ understood anything from what Cole said and it was _her_ story. “Your uncle lives in Kirkwall? You were running to meet him but got captured by these bandits before you had the chance?” 

Lynette shook her head. 

NOT SURE she wrote in the earth, then she added in smaller letters. MAYBE DEAD TOO 

Varric studied her words for some time, as if he were searching for hidden meanings. “What was your uncle doing in Kirkwall, Cat? What was his name?” Lynette, her mouth set in a grim line smeared away her old words and wrote just three words to replace them. 

TEMPLAR RALEIGH SAMSON 

“Well, shit.” said Varric.


	21. Inner Struggle

_”Fen’es’fan,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He had been surprised by her sudden appearance, but he was quick to pick up on what was happening. He knew he shouldn’t call her that, he was teasing.  
_

_She smirked in reply, looking behind her to make sure they were truly alone. “And who might you be?” she wondered. “The rogue huntsman, come to trap the wolf?”_

_”The only one who dares.”_

_”Hm?” She began walking around him, examining his every inch with hungry eyes. He stood still, happily allowing her to scrutinise him. “Yes, daring, he_ is _daring. He possesses the body and mind to perhaps lure the wolf out.” She completed the circuit around him, and pressed her finger to his chest. “He is not of faint heart.” Her finger slowly slid upwards, up his throat, the tip of his chin, and then his lips. Her own mouth broke into a malicious smile. “But he is no hunter.”_

_Lasren’s emerald eyes widened and he took a step back, but then regained his composure and laughed. He did not make any attempt to deny what they both knew to be true. The purr in his voice, however, was perhaps slightly muted when he next spoke. “So you have me, now what?”_

_Verahdin’s grin widened and she leaned in close. “Now,” she said, “I’ll have you.”_

It was a sad place, this Storm Coast. The world was filled with sad places such as these that, maybe under different circumstances could have had some charm. Perhaps it was the rain that refused to stop and had dampened her mood, or the fact that the Darkspawn had corrupted the land, giving it that strong feeling of wrongess. After investigating two Warden camps and finding hidden reports claiming that the Wardens had been searching for someone here — most likely Stroud, Blackwall had insisted on one last stop before they headed back to meet the others. 

Verhadin and Blackwall were drenched as they struggled to find footing on the jagged face of a cliff overlooking the sea. A gust of wind that felt like a wet slap nearly caused Verahdin to lose her balance. For a moment the whole, vast land below swarm before her eyes. With her heart thundering, she hugged the cliffside feeling dizzy. “Are you alright?” Blackwall asked, his hand touching her back between her shoulder blades, steadying her. 

“I always thought that heights couldn’t scare me.” she panted. 

Blackwall laughed and pointed at a little flat shelf of green grass a small way up. “We can take a break over there.” 

“That’s a lovely idea.” 

She couldn’t reach the shelf fast enough. Traveling was tiring, especially the first few days when it took time to get used to how taxing it was on the body. She felt exhausted and cold to her very heart. Somehow, resting was a mistake because it didn’t take the tiredness away, or the wet, nor the cold, yet afterwards getting up was all the harder. Still, she let herself sit on a flat stone overlooking the towering, foaming black waves. 

Blackwall sat on another stone an arm’s length away, she turned and noticed that he wasn't looking out at the sea, but straight at her. “So, you and Solas…” he began. 

She arched an eyebrow at him, pulling a complete blank. It had been two weeks since _that_ talk with Solas, she was pretty certain she had moved on. “What? you want to gossip now?” she asked playfully. “We’re friends, but we aren’t together, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Everyone assumed…” he laughed and shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t listen to gossip.” 

“You seem to know this area well.” she said, making for a change of subject. 

“There’s an entrance to the Deep Roads nearby…” he said, allowing his voice to trail away as he looked thoughtful and brooding. 

“You’re worried about the other Wardens?” she asked. She was worried too. “You know I,” she hesitated, “I once considered joining the Wardens. A Warden like you came to our clan, recruiting. I wanted to join and if it weren’t for —“ She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t say it, she couldn’t speak about Miahla. There were no words to express everything that Maihla had been. 

“ _You_ wanted to join the Wardens?” Blackwall was too surprised to feel curious about what she wouldn’t reveal. She knew that in his eyes she was greater than herself. There was a frightening difference between what he saw and who she actually was. 

“Is that such a hard thing to imagine? You know, a man I met in the woods once told me “Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are”. “ She looked at the glowing mark on her hand. “In my past I wasn’t… a good person. In fact, my clan? They hated me. And I hated them back for hating me. Even back then I had tremendously bad luck.” 

“I find that hard to believe. There was probably more to it than that.” 

“There was,” she agreed, “but does it really matter? I spent so much time just _hating_ that I allowed myself to become who they had thought I was. Fen’es’fan, they called me. The wolf’s treasure is the bane to everyone else — bringer of bad luck and misfortune.” 

“Of course it matters, your intentions matter. Who you are now, what _you_ created, they’re evidence that you’re a good woman.” Blackwall got to his feet, now he turned away from her and looked into the distance. “And the fact that your life wasn’t simple before all this happened to you only goes to show that nothing can tarnish the good in you.” 

She looked up at him. Verah had never thought she’d look at a man like him and find him attractive. He was so undeniably _human_ , in his coarseness and _hairiness_ , the broadness of his shoulders and the size of his eyes. But then she tingled with longing to feel his strong arms encircling her, she nearly shuddered with imagined pleasure as she pictured what it must feel like to have his weight pinning her down. 

“Blackwall, you’re idealising me.” she said as she got up, walking to where he stood. She reached out to touch his elbow with her hand. “But I _am_ a real woman.” 

He looked at her, his eyes clouded with desire. He knew what she wanted, and yet like all the men surrounding her, he was infuriatingly passive. “Which makes you all the more remarkable,” he said, quietly pleading with her. But _why_? “I’ve never met anyone like you.” 

She had had it, with all of them. If she must simply _take_ what she wanted, then so be it. She was done playing games. She edged closer to him, “Blackwall,” she began, softly, gently. But her voice dripped intention. 

He looked at her, ready to melt, it would seem. And then it was as if he remembered something he forgot, “We can’t be doing this.” 

“Oh?” 

He took a step away, though his eyes were sad and never left her face. “I’m fond of you, it’s true. But this, whatever it is… is impossible.” 

She was baffled. A part of her wanted to angrily stalk away. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew the reason behind this rejection, but she didn’t really want to be faced with it. Or maybe she had read him wrongly? Maybe he didn't feel that way about her after all? “Why?” she asked quietly, keeping as much emotion out of her voice as she could. “Do you not wish to?” 

“What _I_ wish and what we are, are two different things.” He said and suddenly the cold of the Storm Coast was mild compared to the icy fury that rose inside her. “You’re the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. Even now there are people flocking to your banner, ready to serve, to _die_. We must remain focused on the task at hand.” 

“So… what, then?” Her voice trembled slightly. This is what it was going to be about. It would be impossible for her _not_ to be alone. “What does all that mean to _you_? Am I made of stone? Am I forbidden to have something as fleshy as a heart now that I’m responsible for others’ lives?” 

He didn’t mean to hurt her, that much she was certain. But it was still painful to be reminded of where she stood in relation to everyone else in the moments in which she’d rather forget. “I wish…” he sighed, “I wish I could be with you. There’s nothing I want more. But we’re both bound by duty, our lives aren’t ours to live.” 

“I don’t need my life to belong to me to be able to have _feelings_.” She cried, frustrated. Even if what he said was the truth, she didn’t _want_ it shoved in her face. “Do you have _any_ idea how it feels to stand where I stand?” She shook her head, a lump rising in her throat. He remained silent, looking at her sadly. He opened his mouth to speak and then changed his mind and closed it. 

“Nevermind, then.” She said in what she hoped was a nonchalant way and resumed her climb. At least one thing came out of that argument, her anger gave her the energy to keep going. 

*** 

It was some time before either of them said anything. Blackwall kept trying to catch her eye to gauge her mood, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing she wasn’t crestfallen over being rejected _for being the Inquisitor_. Let him fret. She knew she was being childish over this, and it was liberating to be childish. There was also a part of her that was positively curious about her predicament. Even as the Inquisitor, she managed to somehow remain a pariah. 

“Verahdin,” Blackwall said after a long hour of walking in silence. She didn’t respond right away. “Verahdin.” He repeated, this time, softly. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. You’ve every right to be angry but I hope you can forgive me.” 

_Was_ she angry at Blackwall? She was angry at _something_ , she wasn’t sure it was Blackwall. Maybe it was Cullen, or maybe it was Solas, or maybe it was herself… 

She let out a deep breath and halted, spinning around to look at Blackwall. “I’m not angry with you.” she said, “but if all I am to you is just ‘The Inquisitor’, please forget this conversation ever happened.” 

He looked more troubled than ever by her words. “That’s not how I see you,” he said, and then brought his hands to his head. For a moment he looked much younger than he was and more frustrated than she felt. “I…” 

Blackwall was torn about something, the longing in his eyes was no weaker than it had been before they spoke — if anything, it seemed to almost dominate him, but there was something that looked strangely like fear on his face. He was a decidedly brave man, she had witnessed him face the most terrible creatures that Thades had to offer and never waver. Yet here he was, afraid of something. Brow knit in confusion and concern, she stepped towards him until she was near enough to touch. 

“I _want_ to explain. I need to.” he looked at her, and seemed to beg her to understand. They all had their secrets, if she didn’t demand them from others, they wouldn’t demand them from her. She didn’t understand, maybe she never would. But she knew this wasn’t over, Blackwall’s struggle, whatever it was, was tipping towards her. 

He sighed and continued walking. 

*** 

When evening fell, they halted on a hilltop where Blackwall had said he had had a battle with darkspawn some years before. The place seemed significant to him and she was pretty certain that investigating old Grey Warden camps had been a ruse to bring her here. Perhaps what he wanted to tell her had ben weighing on him for a while, or maybe it was truly a Grey Warden secret. 

It was too risky to light fire on the hilltop in the open, but the clouds had parted long enough to allow the moon to peek down on them. Somewhere beside her, Blackwall bent over and picked up something from the ground. “The Warden Constable Badge…” he murmured. 

“Yours?” 

He seemed to be startled from the question, and then nodded, looking at the badge thoughtfully. “I must have… dropped it here.” He sighed and Blackwall’s inner battle raged on. She slowly began to edge closer. “Before I met you, this was my life. Ruins, endless battles… death.” 

“Sounds familiar enough to me.” she smiled. “We know nothing of each other before we met, but whoever you were, and whoever I was. It isn’t important, at least, not to me.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

“You’re right, I don’t. Not knowing is part of what makes it worthwhile.” 

He had nothing to say. The struggle — his struggle — was far from over, but he looked at her one more time and then pulled her towards him, his lips, rough and hard and prickly from his beard found hers. It was a desperate kiss and it rang through her entire body, all the way to her toes. She leaned into him, pulling him closer but wanting more, more, more… 

He pulled away, breathless and self-loathing. “I… I have to think.” he said. 

“Well, that’s one way to make thinking hard.” Verahdin laughed not because anything was funny, but because she was feeling lightheaded. Kissing Blackwall was a lot better than she could have anticipated. 

“I try,” he said gloomily. 


	22. Triumphant Desire

Morning brought along with it heavy rain, the kind that falls in curtains and long angry slanted drops. Lynette’s wet hair was plastered to her forehead, cheeks and neck. The cloak Cole had given her weighed her down and her feet felt wrinkled inside her sodden boots. This was not the wettest she had ever been since coming here. Living in the Storm Coast meant that one was never actually fully dry, this kind of raging rain was an everyday matter. Still, it did not make for happy travelling.

Varric and Cole were going to help her. They were going to take her somewhere where she would be safe and could live peacefully. They had not yet decided, however, where that place was going to be, but they mentioned somewhere called Skyhold many times. It sounded like a nice place, much better than Storm Coast for sure. Cole said that there was a big garden there and a big library, he knew Lynette liked plants and books, she would be happy there and it was safe. 

Varric, on the other hand, thought it would be better for her to be “away from all this”. What “all this” was, she couldn’t understand. Wherever she was, she couldn’t run from what had happened to her. Although Father was dead now, he still existed in her nightmares. She still couldn’t talk and would never be able to talk. She was still ugly and scarred. 

“You aren’t ugly.” Cole said quietly. He had been walking ahead with Varric, and now he was beside her, examining her face. She liked his eyes a lot, and the sound of his voice. They were soothing in a way she couldn’t explain, she felt calm around him. 

She wondered in her head if Cole lived in Skyhold too. If he was there, then she would like to be there as well. “I do live there now. The Inquisitor said I could stay. Why?” he asked curiously. She blinked. That was not something she thought he’d wonder at. Although she met him only yesterday, and he was very odd and could read her thoughts, she thought that he was her friend. At least, if they lived in the same place and saw one another often enough, he would be her friend eventually. 

It just felt nice to be able to communicate with someone in this way. There had always been a part of her that had wanted to… connect… with other people. While most strangers scared her, they were also always attractive in their strangeness, in the fact that they didn’t _know_ her. Maybe they would be on _her_ side for a change. Maybe she could take something from them and they could take something from her and the world would stop feeling so narrow and she would stop feeling so _caught_ all the time. 

But it was always a disappointment. She was trapped inside her own head with her own thoughts and now she couldn’t even speak her mind. Now she was filled with herself up to the brim and felt how she was slowly beginning to diminish. She was shrinking, on the inside, she knew. 

“I once thought…” Cole began, he seemed surprised by something she had thought. “I used to feel… almost like that, too. But you aren’t shrinking, you can’t shrink when you’re real. It only feels like that because you’re alone.” 

How did he know that for sure? 

“It’s very hard to know things for certain. I met people who were certain in the wrong truth. But I know you’re real so you won’t fade.” 

Varric stopped walking and turned to look from her to Cole with a sad expression. “You’re not fading either, Kid.” he said. 

“I might.” 

And it was the way he said it that Lynette found slightly unsettling. As if he were saying “there is rain”, as if it were a fact rather than a metaphor. She eyed him curiously, _why_ would he say it like that? She didn’t want Cole to fade. 

*** 

The light on the lake was beautiful. The weather hardly improved as they travelled south to Crestwood and rain still pelted down upon them. The lake was a rippling expanse of blackness, illuminated by the mesmerising green light. 

“How many of these Highwaymen would we be expecting in Caer Bronach?” Verahdin asked tapping her finger on the slightly damp report. 

“Not more than forty, Your Worship.” Charter, Leliana’s spy in the area was a capable elven woman. “They don’t appear to have anything special in way of armour or weapons either. Between the eight of you and some of our agents we can kill enough of them and have the rest surrender to us.” 

So they were back to killing people, again. Verahdin had never imagined she would prefer encountering demons and undead over a few dozen desperate bandits. She sighed, how many of these bandits were just wayward boys who had fallen in among the wrong people? Why was killing in battle any different from murder? “We take the keep tonight then. The bandits must have gotten news of my arrival. I don’t want to give them time to prepare. I also want the lake drained and the rift closed by morning.” 

“Ambitious as always, I see.” Dorian said. “Or restless?” 

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” Verahdin said with a mirthless smile. 

“Keep this up and that day won’t be far. Is this how you are when in a mood?” 

She rolled her eyes, it was good for someone to point that out. She _was_ feeling rather cross, and she didn’t even know why. Maybe it was still about Blackwall and how he tried to distance himself from her. At least Dorian was blessedly just Dorian. When Charter excused herself, Verahdin seized him in a sudden hug. 

“What’s this for?” he wondered. 

“You’re my only friend.” she ranted. 

“I think I may have noticed you keeping a few others somewhere.” 

“But you have the best hair.” 

Dorian beamed, “Ah, that is the undeniable truth.” 

*** 

Verahdin washed the blood from her face with icy water. It was the nature of blood, once it left its fleshy container it went absolutely everywhere. She used to be squeamish at the sight of it, which was not a sound practice for a healer. She had steeled herself with rigid cold back then and had managed to do her work without wavering. But fixing was harder than tearing, cutting and killing. She found that the concentration required for healing was clear and deep, summoning spirits of compassion to mend torn flesh and using the most subtle touches of fire, ice and electricity to support the natural balance of a living body. It was subtlety rather than force that measured the skill of a mage. 

Overtaking the keep had been nothing short of a massacre. Only a handful of the bandits had surrendered quietly, the rest had fought and had fallen like flies. The Inquisition’s people moved right in and even now the keep was being quickly and efficiently transformed into another base of operations. 

“We found the dam’s controls as you’ve instructed, Your Worship.” said a young human soldier named Randi, “But the scouts advise to approach Old Crestwood come morning.” 

“It _would_ be foolish to go gallivanting in the dark.” Dorian said, “The place must be crawling with spirits and who knows what else.” 

“I think her gracious ladybits could use gallivanting of the other sort, yeah?” Sera said and, to Verahdin’s discomfort, nudged Blackwall. So whatever was going on had become obvious to her companions. They were either eager to jump to conclusions or hypersensitive. Soon, it would be clear to everyone how fickle and naughty their Inquisitor actually was. 

“I’d be more worried about the terrain…” Verahdin began. 

“We’ve arranged quarters for you, Your Worship.” Randi said helpfully. She sighed and rubbed her temples. They had encountered a few Grey Wardens in the area and there was a growing sense of urgency in her gut, but it was all in her head. If it was too late for whatever they had set out to find, a few hours wouldn’t change that. There was nothing in her power to do at this moment but relent. 

“We set out with first light.” she proclaimed tiredly. “Where’s my room?” 

*** 

It was nice to wear clean clothes for a change. Verahdin, hair still damp from her bath, rapped her knuckles against her old robes, they were encrusted with dry blood and numerous different types of gore, all mixed with rainwater, seawater and sweat. It was a work of art, and she unceremoniously dumped them into the hearth, conjuring flames to consume them. If only the filth that tainted her soul could be burnt away so easily. 

At least now she was someone she recognised. If you lied about things long enough, the truth, it would seem, transformed to accommodate. She was bad, even if it was for a good cause. 

Although tired to her bones, she left her room. The rain had stopped for now and the keep was still busy despite the late hour. Her hand was in everything that happened in the Inquisition, but sometimes all the activity that followed went over her head. How did all these people know what to do? They knew the system and their place within it, like cogs in an dwarven contraption. All she did was give the word and everything went into motion. 

Even magic was harder than that. 

Sometimes she envied them a little. Without Miahla, every place she found in this world seemed assumed, a temporary arrangement before her life would come to its conclusion. Verahdin was fairly certain that, by some odd medical condition, perhaps, she had completely lost her ability to die. Hadn’t she even failed to take her own life? Life and death was rather straightforward for everyone else, why was she any different? 

After walking the keep, talking to Charter about her man who was running late and even catching a few scouts gambling in one of the upper rooms, she returned to her chamber. She needed to at least try to sleep. She shut the door behind her and made towards the makeshift bed, when she froze misstep. 

Someone was in the room with her. It was not movement she saw like a play of shadows from the corner of her eye. With one swift movement, she turned, the air in the room growing frigid and thin as she summoned ice and made to hurl it across at the intruder. 

The ice that had formed on the flagstones at her feet crackled as it melted when she realised who it was, she let her hands fall, although her breath was still a white mist in the now cold room. 

He stood in a dark corner by the window, leaning against the wall. He looked solemn and a little bit confused, as if he wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten there. 

“Blackwall.” She knew why he was here. He wasn’t the first man she had seduced. She smiled, “I knew you couldn’t stay away.” 

He sighed a sigh that was more than half a growl. “No, I couldn’t. If only you knew how confounding you are, how impossibly infuriating…” 

“Who’s to say I don’t?” she half-joked, and that appeared to be enough. He left the wall he had been leaning against, crossing the room towards her as if drawn by some magical force. 

“I wanted to…” he began, even as he continued to struggle with himself. “I just had to see you.” And then his mouth was on hers, burning, yearning and desperate. Whatever grey warden code he was breaking by coming here, whatever the reason for his struggle, it was lost with that kiss. She had him in her room and as her lips parted for his tongue, she was determined not to let him leave tonight. 

But even as she pulled him closer, he pulled away. She should have known, he was a fierce fighter, he would not go down easily, especially when his opponent was himself. “No. This is wrong, I shouldn’t even be here.” he said. 

“Yet here you are.” she answered softly, she was not put off, not this time. “And it doesn’t feel wrong to me.” 

“I want to give in,” he pleaded, “Maker knows how much I wish I could. But I’m not what you want, I could never be what you deserve.” 

“Blackwall, I’m not a child. Let me at least be the judge of what I want and deserve.” 

“There’s nothing I could offer you…” 

“I rather think there is.” She tilted her head to the side, regarding him for a moment. She was glad he was here, already the emptiness in her heart was being pushed aside by desire. Maybe she should listen to him when he warned her about himself, there was a part of her that knew this was a failsafe way to get one’s heart in tatters. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and tonight she needed to be particularly reckless. 

She slowly drew close against him, her eyes trained on his. He didn’t move, he had placed the decision in her hands. She let her arms slide up his shoulders, she didn’t rush, she wasn’t _that_ greedy. Then she paused like this for a moment, in half an embrace. There was a line that stood between strangers and lovers, sometimes it was as elusive as a single thought, but once you crossed it there was a transformation. This body that felt warm but strange against her own would, in a mere moment, become something familiar. Something she was allowed to touch. 

Verahdin lifted her chin and crossed the line. It was all rushing fire and pulsing desire on the other side. The prickle of his beard and the hardness of his lips as the coarse hands of a fighter pressed and probed through the fabric of her robe. Her own hands searched and dug around the hard edges of his leather vest, yearning to find the warm flesh of the man underneath. 

Their dance from friends to lovers wasn’t graceful or gentle. It was brutal, frustrating but also thrilling. The clothes they wore were not meant to be easily removed. They were clothes that served a purpose beyond merely preventing nakedness and as such neither knew or were able to understand in the heat of the moment how to remove them. After several failed attempts, they separated long enough for Verahdin to unfasten her own robe and for Blackwall to untie and unbuckle his. 

She allowed both her outer robe and inner clothes to fall round her ankles. Verahdin had always been confident in her own flesh, her nudity didn’t make her feel vulnerable or ashamed. She had become a mage even before she was a woman, clothed or unclothed, she was powerful. Blackwall paused as he regarded her, he had just shaken off his padded leather vest and was untying his breeches. She allowed him to admire her before she came to him again. Breeches and a crisp linen undershirt, she knew how to deal with those. 

She kissed the side of his neck and finished unlacing his breeches for him but gasped with delight as he palmed her breasts. The breeches fell from his waist down to his knees, releasing what made him a man for her to grasp. She trembled slightly with tantalising anticipation as the extent of his arousal pulsed beneath her fingers. Even as her touch gave him pleasure, he didn’t lose his focus, bending his head his mouth teased one nipple, and then another, the brush of his beard against her tender skin both tickled and thrilled. She let out a little moan as the sweet torment became more than she could bear. She needed to feel him more, to be closer, to connect. She needed him inside her. 

She pulled back only a little to cup his face between her palms and kiss him hard on the lips as she pulled him backwards towards the bed. She couldn’t wait a moment more, and there was no time for restraint or tenderness. He mirrored her urgency pushing her firmly until she fell back on the bed, her thighs spread to accept him. 

Even among humans, he was a big man, bigger than any man she had been with. She had never lain with a human before and for a brief moment she wondered if her small size could accommodate him at all. But then he began to push inside her, and everything was swept aside as her body began to sing with pleasure. He tried to be gentle at first, but she arched her back, wishing to feel as much of him as she could. She dug her nails into his skin and bit his shoulder, “Harder,” she breathed out the command. He chuckled and to her delight began thrusting into her in abandon. 

She loved it, crushed beneath his formidable weight and held so tightly, she was not alone. The musky smell of a man, the rock-hard solidness of his muscles and his warm breath tickling her ear made her arousal too great to bear. It had been so long and this was more than anything she had expected. She was sent over the edge faster than she had ever been upon the first time with a lover. He followed soon after, moaning deep in his throat as he released inside her. 

Then there was quiet, disturbed only by their panting. Still inside her, he slipped to the side, cuddling her to his chest. She nestled against him, relishing in the warmth and security of being held and the calm, relaxed relief that came after lovemaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever with this chapter. Life happened, but now there's time for writing again. I hope this chapter was worth the wait ^^


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